


November Mystrade

by Topicabo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Declarations Of Love, Dialogue-Only, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Exes, Female Lestrade, Female Mycroft, First Meetings, Greg thinks too much, Gunshot Wounds, Halloween Costumes, Hospitals, Implied Rough Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Bondage, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentions of Masturbation, Mild Language, Morning After, Mutual Hand Job, Mycroft thinks too much, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Original Character(s), Overworking, Panic Attacks, Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Punk Lestrade, Restraints, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Songfic, Suits, Teen Lestrade, Teen Mycroft, Vampire Lestrade, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 27,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topicabo/pseuds/Topicabo
Summary: An attempt to semi participate in NaNoWriMo. While I'm not writing a novel, I'm going to attempt to write Mystrade oneshot ficlets every single day of the month.





	1. Purely Cosmetic

“Hello? Myc, you here?”

 

“I’m in the den.”

 

“I’m just hanging up my coat. Sorry I took so long, I wanted to stick it out at least the bare hour for appearances sake.”

 

“Not to worry, I’m well aware of the pains in adhering to social etiquette. How was the gathering?”

 

“Eh, not too bad for a department party. ‘Course, they gave me some grief for not dressing up, but free alcohol made it better.”

 

“Oh dear. And how much free alcohol did you partake in?”

 

“Actually, only needed three to make it through the evening. I could use a coffee though. You want a cup?”

 

“I’d prefer tea.”

 

“Of course you would. All right, I’m on it. …Uh, say, why don’t you come in here? Bit easier to chat if we’re not shouting between rooms.”

 

“You raise an excellent point, though would your request have something to do with my prowess in using the coffee machine? As well as that unfortunate incident involving it last week?”

 

“That was an accident! I’m not intimidated by your damn coffee maker, Myc. Just don’t trust all my fine motor skills at the moment…”

 

“Very well. I suppose I could be persuaded to bestow my expertise on the matter.”

 

“Look, I’m just saying you shouldn’t need seven different buttons to make regular coffee. You’d think I was trying to brew plutonium with all the settings you have to go through- ….What?”

 

“What is on your head?”

 

“Huh? Oh, ha, right. Like I said, people were hassling me for not wearing a Halloween costume, so Sally dug these up to get them off my back. Forgot I had them on.”

 

“Are…are those cat ears?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just glad Sally couldn’t find the matching tail. I’d never live it down.”

 

“…………”

 

“Myc? You okay?”

 

“Uh, yes, of course. My apologies, I was merely surprised.”

 

“Surprised? …OH. Ohhhhh, hang on-“

 

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

 

“You like these on me, don’t you?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“Myc, it’s okay if you do. It’s kind of sweet, honestly.”

 

“I- Well, I suppose they do offset your hair and eyes quite nicely. And impart a certain… playful demeanor.”

 

“You’re adorable.”

 

“Hmph, this coming from a man with fuzzy cat ears on.”

 

“Let’s see what you have to say after we have a go upstairs with me wearing them the whole time.”

 

“You… you want wear them while-?”

 

“If you’d like. And from your reaction, I think you would.”

 

“…I admit I am somewhat intrigued by the idea…”

 

“You and me both. And maybe later, we could see how you look wearing them.”

 

“The chance of that happening is highly unlikely. But I welcome your attempts to `convince` me.”

 

“Looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Number one down. If anyone has ideas for story prompts, I'd love to hear them. Would probably help keep me on track with this challenge I've given myself.


	2. Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The divorce is final. And that's good. Isn't it?

Questioning eyes followed Mycroft as he strode through New Scotland Yard. He barely noticed, as it seemed to happen every time he visited. Wordlessly, he walked past the various men and women milling about, heading for the Detective Inspector’s office. He only paused as he came face to face with Sergeant Sally Donovan. Mycroft said nothing, merely flicking his eyes in the direction of the office door.

 

Donovan regarded him intently for a moment. For his part, Mycroft waited as she searched his face. He lifted his chin, and for one of the rare moments in his life allowed his expression to mirror what was in his head.

 

It was most likely his choice to lower his mask that satisfied her. “He’s in there,” she said quietly. “Think he’s waiting on you, even if he won’t admit it.” With that, she stepped around him and went back to her desk. Mycroft couldn’t help the sense of grudging respect that he had for the Sergeant, despite the shaky history between her and Sherlock. Even if she didn’t have the mental acuity that he and his brother possessed, he knew that she was a shrewd woman in her own right, strong-willed and persistent. And he was grateful that such a person worked alongside the Detective Inspector, watching out for him when Mycroft himself could not.

 

Speaking of which, Mycroft closed the remaining distance to the office and stepped through the door. The man at the desk inside looked up listlessly as he entered, straightening when he recognized Mycroft.

 

“Myc, hey. What’re you doing here?”

 

Mycroft closed the door behind him, setting his umbrella against the wall. “Hello Gregory. I had some time between meetings.”

 

“Oh. Well, it’s nice to see you.” Greg attempted to smile, the action lacking in his natural, easy-going warmth. Mycroft frowned in response.

 

“I received your text. About the papers.”

 

Discomfort flashed in Greg’s eyes, and Mycroft immediately regretted having contributed to it.

 

“You didn’t have to come over here for that.”

 

“I thought you might want to talk about it.”

 

“There’s really nothing to talk about,” Greg said flatly. “It’s all settled. Officially divorced now.” Mycroft felt an uncomfortable twist in his chest as Greg looked away, his expression crumpling into something brittle.

 

“I’m glad that it’s over, Myc. Really. Maggie and I; we were a mess for such a long time. It’s a relief to be done with it.” Greg grimaced, pressing the heel of his palm against the bridge of his nose. “Dammit,” he said, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. “Sorry, I’m being an idiot. My head’s just-“

 

Mycroft couldn’t stand it anymore. His feet were moving before he was fully conscious of the fact. Greg heard the approach, his face registering surprise before Mycroft pulled him out of his chair and crushed their lips together. Greg was only momentarily startled; seconds later he threw an arm around Mycroft’s neck, digging the fingers of his other hand into the jacket. Mycroft locked his arms behind Greg’s back and pulled him firmly against his body. He had no interest in finesse or technique, and it didn’t seem like Greg did either.

 

Greg’s thoughts were almost deafening, so much confusion churning under the surface. Mycroft could read them in Greg’s body language, taste the desperation in his kisses, hear the cadence of his unsteady breathing. Anger, frustration, anxiety, fear. He pressed closer, not knowing if he had the ability to drown out Greg’s turmoil but still praying that he somehow could.

 

Greg broke away for air, his eyes wide as he stared at Mycroft. “Myc, what-?”

 

“You don’t have to apologize. Not for this, and not to me.“ Mycroft’s mouth tensed at the corners. Try as he might, he couldn’t tamp down the creeping sense of inadequacy to a woman who had shared years of history with Greg, someone who knew the depths of his heart in ways that Mycroft feared he never would. He hated himself for that, for how selfish it was to feel that way when his focus should be easing Greg’s mind.

 

And so he forced himself to smile reassuringly, even though he was positive that Greg saw right through him. “Ending something that you’ve invested so much of your life into for so long is never a simple or clearly defined matter. It’s fine if you wish things had gone differently.” The words burned like acid in his gut as he spoke them.

 

“No. Myc, no, I don’t.” Greg closed his eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath. He lowered his head to Mycroft’s shoulder, folding his arms around his waist. “I thought I was so sure with Maggie. That she was the one. I think we only lasted as long as we did because I believed in that, even when everything had already gone to shite. And now, it actually takes effort to remember that I really did love her once.”

 

Mycroft winced, but Greg strengthened his hold on him. “It’s not the same with you. Thank God it isn’t. I regret how things ended with Maggie, but I don’t regret that they did.” Greg raised his head, his smile sheepish but genuine. “Being with you is brilliant. I didn’t know it could be this good. But if I cocked this up too, it’d be worse than what happened with Maggie. I’d be losing the best thing I’ve got going in my life. And that terrifies me.“

 

Mycroft stared at Greg, the dull ache in his heart morphing into something more acute and sympathetic. It was very nearly painful, and yet he cherished the bitter sweetness of the feeling. “You aren’t alone in that,” he whispered. He leaned forward and touched their foreheads together; his only anchor against the surge of emotions he thought might shake him apart.

 

“I won’t stand here and make you empty promises, Gregory. It wouldn’t be right. I don’t know what’s in the future, or how you and I might change. But I can say this; for as long as this lasts, I want you with me. And if it is within my power, I will do my upmost to ensure that you are the one I spend the rest of my life with.”

 

There was a soft sound from Greg, like a sudden intake of breath, and then Mycroft’s brain abruptly caught up with what he’d just said. His mortification was swift and made itself known all across his face. He stepped back, his eyes on the floor as he tried to minimize his faux pas. “That is, if I’m not being too presumptuous in assuming that you’dmfhph!”

 

Greg didn’t wait for the rest. He dove forward and took Mycroft’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Mycroft’s startled yelp quickly trailed off into a helpless moan, his legs threatening to give out from under him as he clutched Greg’s shoulders for support.

 

“You silly berk,” Greg breathed, nipping at Mycroft’s lower lip. The gentle affection in his voice and eyes made Mycroft feel weightless. “I love you too.”

 

Mycroft was grateful that his mouth was thoroughly occupied. Otherwise he couldn’t have been trusted to not spout out a deluge of soppy declarations and further embarrass himself. Greg just had that effect on him. Instead, he was happy to give Greg his full attention. And surprisingly, after all his recent doubts, he’d never been more content to not know what lie ahead of him than he was at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out much nicer than I thought it would. Two down!


	3. Already There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft overthinks things sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First one of these to get into the M rating a bit. I also just liked the idea of the relationship sneaking up Mycroft.

Mycroft could usually look back along the routes he had followed in his life and understand why they had led him to where he was. His career operating from the shadows of the government, the tempestuous relationship with his younger brother, and even how those he had to interact with perceived him. He felt no surprise on how things had settled in his world.

 

But as he lay in his bed and watched the emerging sunrise begin to trickle in through the window blinds, he had to admit that he couldn’t exactly account for the presence of the man curled up against his side. He glanced down at the head of silver hair resting on his chest, one arm draped over his stomach. Mycroft felt disconcerted at how natural the sight had become to him.

 

He couldn’t isolate when Gregory had slotted himself so neatly into his life. He supposed the turning point could have been their first night together, but that was somewhat dubious. That had simply been a case of both men feeling lonely, being reasonably attracted to one another, and finding themselves receptive to the idea of a round of straightforward shagging. It had ended up being a highly gratifying experience, to say the least. Their association over the years had built a solid level of trust and rapport between the two of them. Frankly, it would have been foolish to waste such a mutually beneficial arrangement.

 

So one night quickly turned into two, then three, until their liaisons were a fairly regular occurrence. Mycroft didn’t think anything of it when they added dinners to the mix, and Gregory turned out to be as engaging outside of bedroom as he was in it. Sometimes they would spend time together without the topic of sex even coming up. Mycroft never stopped to quantify what Gregory was to him. After all, selfless companionship was so rarely offered to him; it seemed wiser to just enjoy it as long as he was able.

 

No, Mycroft didn’t know when everything changed for him. But he did remember the exact moment when he’d realized it. He had just gotten back from being out of the country for two weeks, and Gregory’s suggestion of dinner to welcome him back had sounded wonderful. Dinner led to drinks, which led back to Mycroft’s flat, which led to Gregory being sprawled on his back with one leg hitched up over Mycroft’s shoulder. Gregory was delightfully vocal during such moments, and being the cause of those desperate cries had made Mycroft nearly delirious. He’d felt the shuddering tension wash through Gregory and then had cried out himself, his head thrown back as he’d twitched and gasped for air.

 

As the white noise had faded from his brain, a hand had suddenly curled around his fingers. He’d blinked and glanced down to find Gregory watching him, his dark eyes half-lidded as his breathing slowly evened out. Mycroft’s heart had given a particularly hard thud against his ribcage as Gregory squeezed his hand, a small smile breaking out over his face. And as Mycroft had looked at him, the pieces finally connected in his mind. That simple fond expression, one that Gregory bestowed to Mycroft so easily, was something remarkable. Something special.

 

Just like the man it belonged to.

 

Of course. Looking back, Mycroft was almost embarrassed at how blind he had been to the changes happening right in front of his eyes. Gregory had become special to him. He’d just been ridiculously slow in recognizing it.

 

He was attached to Gregory; there was no sense in fooling himself otherwise. And somehow, Gregory wholeheartedly returned the sentiment. Everything seemed to carry weight now, the tiniest gestures and kindnesses affecting him to a startling degree.

 

Mycroft sighed as he brought himself back to the present, rolling his eyes at his own melodrama. Reaching down, he skimmed his fingers through Gregory’s hair, attempting to smooth down the errant strands. Gregory stirred under his touch.

 

“Myc?”

 

“Shhh. My apologies, I didn’t mean to wake you. There’s still time to sleep.”

 

“Mmph…. Okay.” Gregory nuzzled his head back against Mycroft’s chest. “Love you,” he whispered, the words slurring as he dropped off to sleep again.

 

Mycroft froze, his shock so acute that he lost his capacity for coherent thought for a good few seconds. Swallowing hard, he lowered his head to his pillow and closed his eyes. As he focused on Gregory’s slow, steady breathing and the warmth of his skin, he wondered how he could continue to be worthy of this gift he’d been so freely given and surely didn’t deserve. But mostly, he once again thanked whatever luck or good karma he’d managed to accumulate in his short life for the existence of the man that was Gregory Lestrade.

 

“And I you, Gregory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Number 3! Still don't know if I'll make it the whole month, but I'm proud of myself so far.


	4. Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock offers Greg some insight on his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a lot of stories where Sherlock is less than thrilled with the idea of Mycroft and Lestrade together. Thought I might try one where he was a little more accepting of the idea.

“No.”

 

“You’re being completely unreasonable, Gerald.”

 

“It’s Greg. And I don’t care! Until we get the okay, you’re not going anywhere near that building.”

 

“I need to see the scene untouched. It’s the perfect window into the killer’s personality.”

 

“Not happening. You can visit the site after it’s been cleared.”

 

“That won’t be nearly as useful! The evidence will be compromised!”

 

“Sherlock, that place is wired like a bloody Saw movie! Two people have already been injured trying to disarm those traps.”

 

“That’s because your people are incompetent! I’m not going to be caught off guard by something set up as an exaggerated bid for attention!”

 

“Well, I’m not taking that risk! Can you imagine what your brother would do to me if you ended up getting your head chopped off?”

 

“Ugh. This is so idiotic.”

 

“Look, I’ll get someone to take video and pictures of everything before it’s dismantled. But you are not setting foot on the scene until it’s safe. I’m not having Mycroft ship me off to Serbia or something because I got his brother killed.”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic. He’s hardly going to deport the man he’s infatuated with to some third world country.”

 

“…What?”

 

“Oh. Probably wasn’t supposed to say that. Anyway-“

 

“Wait, no, hold on a sec! What do you mean infatuated?”

 

“What do you mean what do I mean? My brother fancies you, of course. If we could move on-“

 

“No, no, we’re not moving on! Since when is Mycroft interested in me?”

 

“Since about two years now. Obvious really, if you had paid attention. Even John picked up on it.”

 

“How is it obvious?!”

 

“Oh, honestly, just look at the signs. He goes out of his way to converse with you, even though he despises small talk. He actually smiles at you, as opposed to that thing he does where it looks like he’s grimacing the wrong way round. And nine times out of ten when he visits you about `work` matters, he’s actually doing it because he just wants to see you in whatever capacity he can. He’s so painfully transparent I almost feel sorry for him.”

 

“What the hell? Why didn’t he say anything to me?”

 

“Fear of rejection, most likely. Though judging from your reaction, you don’t seem terribly put off by his pathetic little crush.”

 

“It’s not pathetic, Sherlock. I just… Jesus, I can’t understand how a man like Mycroft could want a stupid sod like me.”

 

“Hm. Interesting.”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, nothing. Had to send off a text. So then, are you attracted to Mycroft?"

 

“Christ, Sherlock, don’t you think that’s a bit personal?”

 

“Well, he is my brother. His welfare concerns me to some extent.”

 

“Could have fooled me. Thought you couldn’t stand him.”

 

“Mycroft infuriates me. I resent his nagging, and his incessant meddling in my life. But I don’t hate him, and I’m not ignorant of the sacrifices he’s made for my sake. He denies himself much in the way of personal happiness. So if he were to finally obtain some small measure of it, then I would glad for him.”

 

“Huh. Decent of you.”

 

“Don’t look too much into it. And my question still stands. Would you be interested in seeing my brother?”

 

“… Yeah. Yeah, I would. I mean, I still can’t understand what he sees in me. But if he wanted to, then I’d like to try.”

 

“Good. At any rate, you probably should talk about this matter with him personally. Lord knows he’s far too much of a coward to bring it up on his own.”

 

“Come on, I only just found out about all this myself! And I haven’t been with a bloke in twelve years, let alone a high-class chap like Mycroft. I’m probably going to sound like a complete duffer trying to ask him out. What am I supposed to say?”

 

“Start with dinner. That’s how these things generally work. You can hash out the rest with him when he gets here.”

 

“Huh? Wait… Sherlock, who were you texting before?”

 

“Oh, I just told Mycroft that you had a matter of national importance to discuss with him and he should hurry over as soon as possible. He said he’d be arriving within the hour.”

 

“You what?!”

 

“You can thank me later. Well, I think I’ll be on my way. Do let me know how things turn out, though I would appreciate if you kept the more intimate details to yourself.”

 

“Sherlock!”

 

“Goodbye, Lestrade. And good luck. Whatever happens, I’m sure the outcome will be most promising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooo, almost didn't make it! I'm trying to get each one posted before midnight, so kinda got close to the wire on this one. Number 4!


	5. Breakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft receive a reminder of how fragile people really are. Both physically and emotionally.

The first time Greg had been shot was during firearms training. He’d taken a wax bullet to his right calf. Fortunately, he was at enough of a distance that while the impact had hurt like hell, it hadn’t resulted in any lasting damage.

 

The second time had happened while he was still a sergeant. A panicked robber had let loose several rounds before he could be disarmed, one of which had grazed Greg in the shoulder. That one stung more than anything else, leaving him with a light scar above his triceps. He didn’t mind it too much; it made for an interesting conversation starter.

 

The third time was the most recent. It was also the worst. A suspect had holed up in a 2nd floor flat with an open window facing the street. There’d been no indication that he had been armed, so they’d been caught unaware when he’d opened fire. Greg had felt a sensation like a sharp rock smacking into the left side of his abdomen. Glancing down, his shock had almost been comedic as he watched the blood soak through his shirt. That time there’d hardly been any immediate pain, just an odd numbness spreading through his body.

 

He didn’t remember much after that, just muddled voices and hazy images from the ride in the ambulance. It was when he woke up that the pain had finally registered; a burning, pulsating ache that had been barely tempered by the medication he was on. Later he’d learned that the bullet had struck his kidney on the way out of his body, forcing the doctors to remove the organ. But he would get along fine with just the surviving partner. All in all, he’d been lucky. The experience hadn’t been an enjoyable one, but it had ended as well as he could ask for.

 

However, he wasn’t sure Mycroft agreed.

 

Anyone who didn’t know Mycroft would assume that the man was taking the whole incident in stride, just as unruffled as he ever was. Greg knew better. He’d been aware enough when Mycroft had first visited him in hospital to catch how the colour had drained from his face at the sight of Greg, the way he’d been clutching his umbrella handle so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, how uncharacteristically wide his eyes had been. Greg had never seen that look from Mycroft before, and he hoped he’d never have to see it again.

 

After being discharged from hospital, Mycroft had insisted that Greg recuperate at his flat. Greg probably would have been fine at his own place, but he couldn’t deny the extra assistance would be useful. And having the daily confirmation of Greg whole and functioning under his roof seemed to calm Mycroft’s nerves somewhat.

 

About two months later, Greg walked in the door of the flat after his first day back at NSY. He’d only been allowed to perform desk duties and had spent his time catching up on paperwork, but he was still exhausted. Mycroft had texted to say he wouldn’t be home for another hour. Greg trudged up the staircase and headed into the bedroom, toeing off his shoes and socks on his way to the en suite. Flipping on the light threw the bathroom into stark relief, and his eyes fell upon the large Jacuzzi tub to his left.

 

The idea of long soak sounded absolutely perfect. At this point, he’d been allowed to shower again without wrapping plastic wrap around his wound, but he hadn’t had a proper bath since getting shot. He eagerly turned on the water, fine-tuning the temperature to a level just below uncomfortable. He’d always preferred it a little hotter than necessary.

 

Greg started a playlist of instrumental music on his phone before setting it on the edge of the tub. Then he shut off the water and shed the rest of his clothes, taking a second to examine himself in the mirror. He could just barely make out where the stitches had been before they had been removed, redness still flaring out in a small wave-like mark. Swiveling his head, he could also see where the bullet had exited his back. He grimaced, but only momentarily before he padded back over to the bath.

 

He entered slowly, adjusting to the heat bit by bit until he was submerged up to his neck. He groaned low in his throat, tilting his head against the built-in cushion as he let his body go limp. Truthfully, he generally found the bells and whistles involved in luxury living a bit overrated. He didn’t see the need for things like seat warmers in a car or TVs that could be voice activated. But he had to admit that he did enjoy a little self-indulgence like this every now and again. Especially when Mycroft took such simple pleasure in providing it to him.

 

Greg’s eyes drifted shut as he floated down into that place between sleep and consciousness, time becoming ambiguous and less defined. He resurfaced mentally when his ears picked up the sound of approaching footsteps. He kept his eyes closed, stirring ever so slightly as a hand caressed his cheek.

 

“You shouldn’t fall asleep while bathing.”

 

“I wasn’t. Just dozing.”

 

There was a rustle of fabric, and then a kiss brushed against his forehead. He reached up and curved his fingers around the nape of a neck, drawing the person in for a proper greeting. He couldn’t deepen the kiss as much he’d like at that angle, but he was so comfortable that it hardly mattered, and the mouth pressed to his own was firm and warm.

 

Greg pulled back for a breath and finally opened his eyes, smiling up at sight of Mycroft leaning over him. “Missed you today.”

 

“As did I. Did everything go all right?”

 

“Yeah, just filled out papers. They’re not going to let me back on active duty for another week or so.”

 

“I see.” Mycroft’s tone was nonchalant, but Greg didn’t miss the slight undercurrent of relief. And apprehension. Greg sighed, sliding his hand down to Mycroft’s bicep and giving a gentle squeeze.

 

“Think I’ll get out now. Grab me a towel?”

 

Nodding, Mycroft straightened and walked over to the rack on the wall. Greg opened the drain in the tub and stepped out, muttering a soft “Thanks” as he took the cloth Mycroft held out to him. He patted himself down before wrapping the towel around his waist. Then he paused as he noticed how intently Mycroft was watching him. “What?”

 

Mycroft opened his mouth as though he intended to answer, but instead closed it without making a sound. His gaze shifted as he studied Greg, making a slow path down his body until settling on the marred flesh of Greg's abdomen. Moving closer, he lifted his hand, hesitating before ghosting his fingers along the remnants of the wound. Something seemed to deflate inside of him, his shoulders sagging as his lips compressed into an uneasy frown.

 

He’d never looked more painfully human than he did at that moment.

 

“Hey.” Greg took another step and pulled Mycroft against him, folding his arms around his neck. The man made a slight noise like he’d been caught off guard. Greg hooked his chin onto Mycroft’s shoulder and pressed the side of his face into Mycroft’s neck, breathing him in. “I’m here, okay? I’m right here.”

 

Mycroft was silent for a few long seconds. Then the trembling started, little twitches running through his limbs and centering in his chest. Mycroft's breathing became uneven as he wrapped his arms around him and dropped his forehead to Greg’s shoulder.

 

“I know,” Mycroft whispered, even as he clung to Greg as though he might shatter apart if he let go. “I know.”

 

Greg chose to leave it at that. There was more they should talk about, but not right then. For now, nothing for Greg to do but to quietly reassure Mycroft that he was there, and that he was whole. And if Greg had his way, he planned to keep it that way for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a bit of research into how gunshot wounds work, but otherwise I was kind of flying by the seat of my pants on the topic. Also didn't mean to once again push things down to the wire. But hey, number five in the bag!


	6. Associations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycia meets the woman her little sister has been working with for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little piece of fan art I found made me want to try a gender bent version of Mystrade. Also, Mycroft's boots in the picture make me happy. XD https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/59/38/b9/5938b9fb1cf8f094807c085e363db82e.jpg

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes Mycia Holmes had been at NSY waiting to speak to one of their Detective Inspectors. She disliked being kept waiting, especially at the risk of throwing her schedule out of balance. She had a 12 o’clock appointment with the Secretary of State, as well as conference with the visiting Russian diplomat right after. Delaying those meetings was not an option.

 

She scowled, tapping her umbrella tip on the DI office’s floor in an uneven, staccato rhythm. Tedious. Normally, she would send Andre to act as her second set of eyes and ears. But this happened to be one of those unfortunate cases where she was forced to conduct her own legwork.

 

Rapidly approaching footsteps drew Mycia’s attention. She looked up as the office door opened, glaring at the woman who entered.

 

“Let me know when forensics gets those results,” she said, angled sideways in the doorway as she called out over her shoulder. “And tell Raymond I want his write-up by the end of the day.” She paused at the sight of the person standing in front of her desk. She tilted her head, her scrutiny of Mycia coming off as surprisingly thorough, even if it was a touch slow.

 

Interesting.

 

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, I presume?”

 

“Yeah.” Lestrade obviously wasn’t sure what to make of Mycia, but she still stepped forward and held out her palm. “Sorry for the wait, I only just got word you were here.”

 

Mycia raised an eyebrow before she grudgingly gave the offered hand a cursory shake. She’d already read the background report on Lestrade, but she noted a few extra details to round out the assessment. Signs of a mild smoking dependency due to work-related stress, though it had been about three months since her last cigarette. Mycia was already aware of a husband due to the report and the ring on DI’s finger, but the marriage looked to be on its last legs. Another causality of Lestrade’s dedication to her career, and the DI was all too aware of the fact.

 

Her ponytail of silver hair still had a few remaining strands of its original dark brunette, a change that had happened sooner than preferred but something she’d more or less come to terms with. Her face retained a certain youthful quality to it despite her middle age, perhaps due in part to her expressive brown eyes. But it was tempered by a down-to-earth, almost scruffy temperament. Active duty and biking on her personal time (evident from the slight roughness on her palms from gripping the handlebars) had earned Lestrade a toned firmness to the curves of her body.

 

Quite an ordinary person, despite her physical advantages. Not that Lestrade’s physical advantages entered into this. And the fact that they were advantageous certainly held no significance to Mycia. It was just an observation, that’s all.

 

“Um.”

 

Mycia blinked, realizing that she was still clasping Lestrade’s hand well past the point of politeness. She quickly pulled away and curled her fingers back around her umbrella handle. Lestrade cocked her head to one side again, a little crooked smile on her face. Then she shrugged, walking over to her desk and sitting against the edge.

 

“So, what can I do for you, Miss…?”

 

“My name is of no importance. I don’t suppose either of us have much time to spare, so I’ll make this brief. What exactly is your connection to Sherlyn Holmes?”

 

“Sherlyn?” Lestrade asked, recognition flashing in her eyes. “Uh, she helps out on my cases every so often. Brilliant, though she’s a pain in the arse.” Her easy-going attitude diminished somewhat, overshadowed by an abrupt flare of wariness. “Why do you want to know? She in trouble?”

 

Oh, a protective nature. That could be useful. One corner of Mycia’s mouth quirked up. “Not as of late, thankfully. I’m inquiring to satisfy my own curiosity. I try to stay informed of her general activities.”

 

“Yeah?” Lestrade leaned back a bit and crossed her arms, observing Mycia closely. “And just who are you to her?”

 

“Merely a concerned party. Sherlyn and I share a long-standing association. As such, I tend to take an interest in her welfare and the people who might affect it.”

 

“Uh-huh. So I’m being vetted then?”

 

“That’s one way of putting it.”

 

Lestrade continuing staring at her, and there was no mistaking the shrewdness behind her expression. Then suddenly she straightened as her eyes lit up. “Wait, hang on.”

 

Mycia frowned. “I’m sorry?”

 

Smirking in amusement, Lestrade stood up and placed a hand on her hip. “I get it now. You’re the big sister, aren’t you? Sheryl rants about you sometimes.”

 

The momentary surprise quickly morphed into a growing sense of respect. DI Lestrade definitely had more to her than Mycia had presumed. She gave an assenting nod. “Correct. Though I can’t imagine that she’s given you a favorable opinion of me.”

 

Lestrade laughed, the sound strangely agreeable to Mycia’s ears. “Won’t lie, she made you out to be pretty awful. ‘Course she’d be over exaggerating.”

 

“How so?”

 

“She made it seem like you interfere in her life because you just want to keep her under your thumb. That you only do it to keep her from becoming a public embarrassment to you, not because you care.” She smiled, easiness to the action that Mycia found rather disarming before she caught herself. “But you do, don’t you? You’re just shite at communicating it. And you don’t know how to help someone who won’t let you.”

 

Mycia gripped her umbrella tighter. Lestrade wasn’t able to infer and put together data the way that she and Sherlyn could, and yet in their very first meeting the woman had been able to see right through her. It was an unsettling feeling. She wanted to deny it, to dismiss Lestrade’s assumption as sentimental drivel.

 

But she couldn’t. It really did seem as though the DI was coming from a place of real concern. And not because she had any ulterior motives behind it, but because she possessed basic compassion towards Sherlyn that so many others had failed to show.

 

So Mycia responded candidly, something she rarely did these days. “Yes. I worry about her. Constantly. Sherlyn’s temperment is so volatile, and the methods she employs to occupy her mind are often detrimental to her mental and physical wellbeing.” She gave Lestrade a pointed look. “I’m sure you know what I mean.

 

A grimace crossed Lestrade’s face. “Yeah. First time I met her, she appeared on one of my crime scenes out of nowhere and started rambling about footprint sizes and how we’d totally botched the time of death. She was so badly off that I could barely make any of it out. I ended up having her put in holding until she’d worked the stuff out of her system and she could talk to me properly. She was right rude about it, but I checked out what she told me. We had the case solved the next day thanks to her. Saved us weeks of work.”

 

Lestrade sighed, pulling over a chair and plopping down into it. “So, I made her a deal. Long as she keeps herself clean, I let her assist on my cases as a consultant, and I allow her access to the forensics lab whenever she wants. And she had to agree to urine tests at any given notice.” Lestrade grinned at the memory. “She whinged a bit about the terms, but she came around soon enough. That’s pretty much where we’re at right now. Maybe it’s manipulative of me to dangle things over her head like this, but-“

 

“No, no. It’s…inspired.” Mycia had wondered why it was that Sherlyn had remained in contact with Lestrade for so long, and the answer was a welcome revelation. Police work might be somewhat beneath Sherlyn’s skill level, but if it led to developing her true potential, as well as turning her attention from the drugs, then Mycia couldn’t see a reason to not encourage this newfound pursuit. “And what if she were to fall back on bad habits?”

 

Lestrade lifted her chin. “I pull her access for three months. If she’s clean after that amount of time, she’s allowed to come back. That’s non negotiable. I can’t risk her compromising sensitive evidence while off her tits.”

 

At that moment, Mycia went from merely tolerating Lestrade as she did most of the populace to genuinely respecting her. For Sherlyn to have such a positive influence in her life, someone of patience, dependability, and unflinching resolve; Mycia couldn’t ask for more.

 

Reaching into her inner jacket, she pulled out a business card. “If you should ever need my assistance, please feel free to use this number. You will have my full support in this endeavor.”

 

Lestrade looked at Mycia again, as though coming to some decision in her head. Then she stood, taking the card and pushing it into her jeans pocket. “Thanks,” she said, giving a good-natured wink. “Good to know.”

 

An unfamiliar spark of heat tickled the back of Mycia’s neck, making her feel a bit warmer than she thought she should. It was oddly pleasant, but she willfully brushed it aside. “And of course, I can arrange for you to be properly compensated for your trouble-“

 

Lestrade held up a hand, a stern frown forming. “Not interested. And don’t bring it up again. I’m not doing this because I want something from you or Sherlyn.” Her gaze softened the next second, and she exhaled a small breath. “You don’t see that kind of intelligence just anywhere, you know? Your sister could do great things with her life, but at the rate she’s going, she’s gonna destroy herself before she can accomplish anything.” She shrugged, something sheepish in the gesture. “I’d just like to help anyway I can. Okay?”

 

Words didn’t often fail Mycia, but right then she had none. She wondered what it said about her view of the world that Lestrade’s simple human decency continued to humble her so. She swallowed harder than she meant to and nodded. “As you wish, Detective Inspector.”

 

Lestrade chuckled, as though she were gently teasing her. “That’s a bit of a mouthful, innit? Call me Greta. Or Gretchen if you like, though my Gran’s really the only one who calls me that.”

 

Something fluttered in Mycia’s chest, the sensation just barely there. She felt an overwhelming urge to depart, even as a small corner of her mind wanted her to remain. “Forgive me, but I’m afraid that I must attend to other matters now. Thank you for your time. I will be in touch.”

 

“Yeah. Feel free to stop by anytime. Even if it’s not about Sherlyn,” Lestrade said, holding out her hand again. “Be nice to chat with you some more.”

 

Mycia hovered for a moment, puzzled at why a mere handshake suddenly seemed so daunting. Finally, she reached out and clasped Lestrade’s hand, the skin cool against hers. She let go much quicker this time around and nodded. “Until next time, Gretchen.”

 

Then she turned on her heels and strode out of the office. She didn’t acknowledge that her heart was beating faster than normal, or that there was most definitely a flush creeping up her cheekbones. She probably was just overheated, or suffering from low blood pressure. It certainly wasn’t anything to do with Gretchen Lestrade. Why would it be? The DI was merely a useful associate. Nothing more to it.

 

Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say I think this is one of the stronger pieces I've done. And honestly, I feel like changing the genders back to male really wouldn't change the story in the slightest. But it did come together in the end. I like Gretchen for the easy shortening to Greta. Mycia was a bit of stretch, but it amuses me that the nickname form would still be Myc. Or Myce (Mice), which sounds adorable to me. As for Sherlyn. .....Ehhhhhh, okay, maybe they don't all work. Number 6!


	7. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little morning discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than normal. Sorry about that.

“Murhpf.”

 

“Ah, there you are, Gregory. I thought I would have to go up and wake you.”

 

“Grrrrrumfpuhfeumnfuhpff…”

 

“I assume that was some archaic Germanic version of `Good morning`, but I think your pronunciation needs work.”

 

“Coffeeeeeeeeeee…”

 

“Yes, yes. I know. You’re quite incomprehensible at this hour without it.”

 

“Mmph… Ugh, that’s better.”

 

“What a relief. From the sounds you were making, I feared that you had been stricken by some form of zombification. Toast?”

 

“Yeah, thanks. Aren’t you gonna sit down with me?”

 

“I think not. I’m afraid last night’s activities have left me rather sore. It’s going to be something of a trial to sit down today.”

 

“Shit, Myc, are you alright?”

 

“Yes, of course. No harm done.”

 

“Christ, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away.”

 

“Gregory, please, it’s alright. I enjoyed it immensely.”

 

“…You did?”

 

“Oh yes. In fact, I look forward to being subjected to your enthusiasm again in the near future.”

 

“Myc, hang on. Look, I’m glad you liked it, but maybe we should be more careful from now on? I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“But I know you wouldn’t. Don’t misunderstand; I would never ask these things of you if I did not have full confidence in your restraint. But I can place myself in your hands without reservation because no one else understands or respects my limits as well as you. That is something I never thought I would have in my life. So please, believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about. I trust you.”

 

“…Okay. Okay, Myc. I trust you, too.”

 

“You are a greater gift than I deserve, Gregory.”

 

“Pretty sure you’ve got that the wrong way round.”

 

“Thank you. And might I add, if you should ever wish to reverse our roles from last night, I would be more than amenable.”

 

“Hmm… Alright. I think we can work something out.”

 

“Wonderful. I have high hopes that it will be a most gratifying experience. For both of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went to a slightly different place than I had originally planned. I'm tempted to return to this one in the future and make it a regular story as opposed to only dialogue. Anyhow, number 7!


	8. And I Sing Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if the words aren't Greg's, they still say everything that Mycroft means to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FluffflufffluffflufffluffOMG so much fluff.

_The shareef don't like it_

_Rockin' the Casbah_

_Rock the Casbah_

_The shareef don't like it_

_Rockin' the Casbah_

_Rock the Casbah_

Mycroft kept his eyes glued to his laptop as he sat at the kitchen island, his fingers skipping back and forth along the keyboard. Over by the range, Greg sang along to his music with carefree abandon as he monitored dinner. Every once in a while he’d give a little shimmy of his hips, no doubt intended to be for Mycroft’s personal enjoyment.

 

Mycroft pursed his lips, trying and failing to hold back the visible evidence of his amusement. They often engaged in this light-hearted battle of wills, though this time Greg had already gained the upper hand. But Mycroft couldn’t say he minded; there was never really any downside in conceding to Greg.

 

“Is that really conducive to your cooking?” asked Mycroft, still refusing to look directly at Greg.

 

“Helps me concentrate. Though if I’m distracting you, I can stop,” he said, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder.

 

“Oh, not at all. I wouldn’t dream of disrupting your creative process, my dear. Feel free to continue.”

Chuckling knowingly, Greg turned back to the stove. He paused in his improvised performance and opened the oven door, bending over in a wholly unnecessary manner to check the contents. Mycroft only maintained his stoic façade by biting down on the inner part of his cheek.

 

Oh, but how Greg would pay for his mischievousness later in the evening.

Greg’s movements subsided as the current song playing on his phone faded out. His playlist was on shuffle, so it was a mystery as to what song might be next. The selections so far had ranged from punk rock to show tunes to one instance of American country that left Mycroft cringing at Greg’s attempts to outdo the singer’s ridiculous drawl. Mycroft glanced up as a light piano melody started, the low and high harmonies warmly intertwining against each other. A guitar joined a few seconds in, adding a subtle undercurrent of richness to the mix. Greg had already slipped into a relaxed swaying motion to the music when the first verse began.

 

_You're a falling star, you're the get away car._

_You're the line in the sand when I go too far._

_You're the swimming pool, on an August day._

_And you're the perfect thing to say._

 

Greg had a bit too much grit in his voice to match the singer’s mellow smoothness. But he easily slid from note to note, his mood content as the drum beat became a bit more complex.

 

_And you play it coy, but it's kinda cute._

_Ah, when you smile at me you know exactly what you do._

_Baby don't pretend that you don't know it's true._

_'cause you can see it when I look at you._

 

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times_

_It's you, it's you, you make me sing._

_You're every line, you're every word, you're everything._

 

Mycroft straightened in his chair. The previously teasing nature of Greg’s tone had shifted into something else, something thoughtful and fond. It resonated in the air between them and nestled deep into a place within Mycroft’s chest.

_You're a carousel, you're a wishing well,_

_And you light me up, when you ring my bell._

_You're a mystery, you're from outer space,_

_You're every minute of my everyday._

 

_And I can't believe, uh that I'm your man,_

_And I get to kiss you baby just because I can._

_Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through,_

_And you know that's what our love can do._

 

The song entered the chorus again, but Mycroft was hardly aware of the original singer anymore. He was lost in the words, lost in the transparency of Greg’s feelings. The song was someone else’s creation and likely had some other significance than what Greg was attaching to it. But at that instant, it belonged to them. It was an unflinching window into Greg's heart for Mycroft to see, so he would know that above all else, Greg was his, and his alone.

 

Mycroft felt his throat tighten. The song hit a sudden key change, and Greg’s voice rose in kind. He didn’t notice as Mycroft stood and came up behind him.

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times_

_It's you, it's you, you make me sing._

_You're every line, you're every word, you're everything…._

Greg trailed off as he felt Mycroft slide his arms around him and press up against his back. Smiling, he turned in the embrace so they were face to face, slotting his own arms behind Mycroft’s neck. The music became lost to their ears as Greg lifted his chin to meet Mycroft’s lips. And in that perfect moment, as the song wound down to its finish, Mycroft knew that just as Greg was his, everything that he was belonged to Greg as well.

 

Completely.

 

_You're every song, and I sing along._

_'Cause you're my everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I really liked writing this one. Kinda been wanting to do a songfic of sorts for awhile now. The song here is Michael Buble's Everything. I think it lends itself well to Mycroft and Greg's relationship. Give it a listen, it's a really nice song.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPUJIbXN0WY
> 
> Number 8!


	9. Friendly Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the things you don't mean to say that often hurt the most.

Greg started from his place on the couch when the door to Mycroft’s flat slammed. He was on his feet the next instant at the sound of something colliding violently against a hard surface. Dashing out into the main foyer, he first caught sight of a black umbrella lying on the ground near the staircase. Mycroft stood on the landing not too far away, his fists clenched so tightly that the leather of his gloves was creaking from the pressure.

 

“Myc?”

 

Mycroft’s eyes snapped to Greg’s face, barely restrained fury burning in his gaze. It took a disconcertingly long moment before recognition flickered through his expression. “Gregory.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, stepping closer.

 

Mycroft looked away, stiffly unfolding his fingers. “He’s been using again,” he said gruffly, as though the words were shards of glass on his tongue.

 

It wasn’t necessary for Mycroft to clarify who he meant. Disbelief shocked Greg’s system, making his core feel numb. “What? Since when?”

 

“Shortly after he returned to London, I imagine,” Mycroft said. He gave a mirthless chuckle as he yanked off his gloves and tossed them on the table by the door. “It’s a much simpler matter now that Dr. Watson is not living with him. He didn’t even attempt to hide it from me. Not that he could have.”

 

Greg’s shoulders sagged, disappointment churning in his stomach. “Fucking hell. How bad is it?”

 

“Oh, he’s quite confident of his restraint this time around. But he always is, isn’t he?” Mycroft smiled while he spoke, the effort so strained that his mouth seemed like it might fracture along its edges. Internal warning bells began going off in Greg’s head as he noticed little tremors running through Mycroft’s fingers.

 

“Okay. Okay, let’s just take a moment, all right? We’ll figure this out.”

 

Mycroft scoffed even as he grimaced and pressed his fingers to his temple. “How I envy your naiveté, Gregory. Life must be so much easier that way.”

 

Greg bristled ever so slightly at the condescension in Mycroft’s tone, but luckily he cared little about his pride at the moment. “Trust me, I get how upset you must be, but-“

 

“You know NOTHING,” Mycroft said, disdain etched in his face. Greg’s uneasiness grew as Mycroft appeared to be getting more and more out of breath with each passing second. “I had allowed myself some measure of hope for Sherlock due to Dr. Watson’s positive influence on him, but now that John has left-“

 

“It’s not as though John is out of Sherlock’s life! He still cares about him, and so do I!”

 

“Yes, because `caring` has accomplished so much up until this point,” Mycroft sneered.

 

“You know it has! Sherlock is light years from where he was when I first met him. This isn’t some derailment of that progress, Myc; it’s just a setback. We’ll talk to him. John and I both will.”

 

Mycroft gave a harsh laugh, the noise lacking any pleasure to it. “You forget, Gregory, I have tried and failed to turn Sherlock from this path for twelve years, and in your limited tenure as his caretaker you have fared no better. Or haven’t you realized that by now?” he asked, his voice increasing in volume. He was visibly shaking now, though he barely seemed aware of it. Greg could recognize an impending crash when he saw it. He raised his hands in front of his chest, speaking as gingerly as he could.

 

“Myc, stop. You need to calm down.“

 

“Do not speak to me as though I were a child! Your good intentions amount to little more than wishful thinking, and I will not gamble my brother’s life on them! So unless you have something of substance to contribute, just what good are you to me?!”

 

The ensuing silence was terrible, hanging in the air like some physical thing pressing down on them. Greg opened his mouth to speak, but it felt like the wind had been slapped from his lungs. Mycroft’s expression was devoid of sympathy, of the warmth that Greg had come to love him for.

 

Then Mycroft’s eyes widened, the coldness suddenly dissolving into shock. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” The colour drained from his face as he took an unsteady step towards Greg. “Gregory, that was- Please, I didn’t mean-“

 

Greg saw the exact moment when Mycroft broke. He launched himself forward and caught Mycroft just as the man’s legs crumpled underneath him. Mycroft sagged in his arms, his breathing quickening into erratic, shallow gasps. Greg lowered them both to the ground and pulled Mycroft against his chest.

 

“G-Gregory, I can’t-“

 

“Don’t talk. I need you to focus on me now. You feel how I’m breathing? Try and copy that. Nice and slow, Myc.”

 

Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his face against Greg’s chest. His body shook in its efforts to obey the previous request. Little by little, his shudders reduced to something less severe, his breathing still harsh but much more consistent.

 

“Good. That’s good, Myc. You’re doing great. Just breathe for me.”

 

Mycroft grabbed onto the front of Greg’s shirt, his fingers twisting the cloth into a tight clump. A quiet, ragged sob cracked in his throat.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

 

“I know. I know you’re just scared for him. And believe me, I know it’s bloody frustrating to be back in this situation again. But you gotta remember you’re not alone in this, okay? John, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and me; we all care about that stupid sod.” Greg shifted Mycroft to a more comfortable position against him, relieved that the man’s breathing had nearly returned to normal. “We’re not worrying about this anymore tonight. Tomorrow, I’m going over there to be the first in line to kick his sorry arse in. And if that doesn’t convince him, we’ll try something else. I’m not gonna stop trying, alright?”

 

Mycroft nodded weakly. Avoiding eye contact, he sank against Greg’s frame and sighed. He wouldn’t say much after that, but Greg just managed to catch his last words of the evening as they were whispered into the fabric of his jumper.

 

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, I wanted to write something fluffy, but my mood wasn't in it for obvious reasons. But this was kind of cathartic in its own way. Down to the wire with it again too. Number 9!


	10. Crimson Lines: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft thinks he's prepared for what's in the shadows, but he makes an error.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know vampire Mycroft is very popular, and I'll most likely do it myself at some point, but I wanted to try a slight twist on that. Also, this became two parts because I didn't want to miss my own deadline and it was getting kinda long. It also gives me a headstart on tomorrow!

It was around 11:30 at night when a black car turned down a residential street in North London. The neighborhood was an unassuming, quiet kind of area, but it was one of those cold, moonless nights where everything is painfully still and dark. The car came to a stop and idled as one of the doors opened. Mycroft Holmes stepped out and immediately turned his coat collar up, grimacing at the bite in the air. Although there were lamps dotted along the street, it seemed as though the shadows swallowed up most of the light, leaving jagged, dirty pools of illumination every few feet. The atmosphere felt stifling, as though there was a slowly tightening band around his chest.

 

Mycroft tamped down on a chill unrelated to the temperature and lowered his head back into the open door to address Anthea.

 

“Park the car somewhere out of sight, then remain on standby.”

 

She nodded, her face blank as she put the vehicle back into drive. Mycroft stepped back and shut the door, watching as the car coasted down the street and went around the corner. Then he turned and regarded the duplex in front of him. An older building, age probably in the mid double digits, with dirt colored bricks and stark white window trimmings. The property was not well maintained, just the bare minimum to keep up appearances. Eight flats in all, from the looks of it.

 

Mycroft hooked his umbrella onto his forearm and strode up to the main door. Locked, as he quickly found out by trying the knob; he assumed that residents had their own keys for security purposes. Mycroft reached inside his coat for the small, leather case he’d brought along. Lock picking was something he’d developed an appreciation for back in the days when he’d done much more fieldwork, though it’d been several years since he’d needed the skill.

 

This particular lock was laughably simple, conquered in less than two minutes. He slipped inside, silently making his way up to the second floor. His destination lay at the end of the hall, with only one other flat on the opposite side. One advantage to the building was that its large size left plenty of space between the flats. And the less chance of any eyes or ears on these proceedings, the better.

 

The lock on the flat itself was somewhat more complex. As before, it was only momentarily inconvenient before Mycroft had bypassed it as well. He paused as he reached for the door handle, apprehension splintering through his composure. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his unease into a remote corner of his mind and sealed it off. Distractions could not be risked in this juncture. Then he opened the door and stepped through.

 

He wasn’t surprised at the lack of light in the flat. He quietly shut the door behind him and stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust as well as they could. His ears didn’t pick up anything except far off car noises and an occasional creak from pipes in the building. But there was no doubting the way his skin prickled as a pair of unseen eyes burned into him. He took a cautious step, testing for a reaction. When none came, he advanced slowly into the den. He could see a bit better in there, due to the illumination from the outside streetlamps coming in through the windows.

 

He kept an open stance as he casually removed his gloves and pushed them into his inner jacket pocket. “I hope you don’t mind; it’s rather warm with all this on,” he said out loud to the room, shedding his overcoat and laying it over the top of the sofa. “Attempting to conceal myself seemed an exercise in futility, as you were most likely aware of my presence even when I was outside.”

 

The shadows shifted near the kitchen entrance just out of the corner of Mycroft’s eye, but he thought better of looking directly to confirm it. “I must confess, we were rather short-sighted in our efforts to locate you. It was assumed that you were being held captive after you disappeared from the scene. Oh, I should mention, we have your assailant in custody. He’s been undergoing thorough `interrogation`. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that he hadn’t abducted you at all, but instead abandoned you and fled.” Mycroft’s lips compressed into a thin line. “But not before the damage had been done, apparently.”

 

Something clattered to the floor behind him, but he held his ground. He idly raised his umbrella up and made a show of examining the metal tip. “Returning back to your flat was a touch predictable, though. Under different circumstances, that would have been an ill-advised decision. Next time, do consider choosing a less obvious-“

 

Mycroft barely had time to register the dark blur rushing in on his left. He spun sideways, swinging his umbrella in a wide arc. He connected with empty air before his weapon was torn from his grasp. A hand shot out and latched onto his throat before slamming him to the ground, the air forced out of his lungs in a harsh shout. His upper body was straddled, knees pinning down his arms. He fought to shove up against the weight, but then the hold on his neck became painful. Gagging, he fell back and went limp, his chest heaving as he stared up at the figure looming over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two is almost already done! Number 10!


	11. Crimson Lines: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft comes up with an effective, but risky solution to a dangerous situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I lied! It's a three parter now. I may repost this one on it's own at some point.

The man’s skin was tinged an ashen grey, splotches of discoloration speckled about his face. He appeared to have aged ten years since Mycroft had seen him last, his cheeks sunken in and pronounced wrinkles etched in his skin. His previously dark eyes had dulled to the color of sand, the white of his sclera overtaken by an inconsistent milky blood red. His features were further contorted in a feral snarl, with only bare traces of rational thought still buried beneath the aggression.

 

If not for his distinctive gray hair, Greg Lestrade would have been completely unrecognizable.

 

Unfortunately, the situation closely matched Mycroft’s expectations. What he’d gotten wrong was the severity of Greg’s mental deterioration. Logic and self-preservation dictated that Mycroft should be focused on reaching the panic button nestled in his pocket. He could certainly last the few minutes it would take for Anthea to intervene. But with Greg’s current lack of reason, that route had a high probability of compromising his safety.

 

In the precious few moments Mycroft had, he ran through feasible scenarios in his mind, estimating the rate of success and the level of danger involved with each one. The idea he settled upon was so simple that it was almost laughable. It also held a certain amount of personal risk, but Mycroft would take that gamble if it would defuse the situation without endangering Greg any further.

 

He would not see the man suffer any more than he already had.

 

With a massive effort, Mycroft wrenched one of his arms free. He grabbed the edge of his shirt cuff with his teeth and dragged the sleeve down, exposing his wrist. He strained to get his arm as close to Greg’s face as he could manage, involuntary panic flooding his brain as he felt a second hand wrap around his neck.

 

“Lestrade,” Mycroft choked out, “Use me.”

 

The crimson in Greg’s eyes abruptly flared all the way to his irises. He released Mycroft’s throat in favor of seizing his arm in a vice-like grip. Mycroft had a split second to see the twin pair of glistening fangs before they sank down into the underside of his wrist. The sting was immediate and sharp; Mycroft had to fight not to cry out.

 

After several agonizing seconds, the pain suddenly melted away. Mycroft gave a startled gasp as tingling warmth radiated out from each insistent tug of Greg’s lips. He slumped back against the floor, shivering as he went boneless. An involuntary moan escaped him as little tremors of pleasure curled through his body.

 

A tiny alarm went off in the back of Mycroft’s mind when he felt fog begin to creep into his consciousness. Groggily, he forced his eyes to stay open. Greg’s mouth was still clamped onto him as numbness steadily spread along Mycroft’s limbs.

 

“Please…Stop….”

 

A violent convulsion went through Greg, vague comprehension flickering on his face. With a grunt he pulled off Mycroft’s wrist and dropped his arm. Greg’s eyes fluttered shut as his head lolled back, blood still visible on his lips. Mycroft watched in dazed fascination as the colour returned to Greg’s face, albeit somewhat paler than usual. The gauntness in his cheeks and chin filled out, and his wrinkles miraculously smoothed away. The length of the fangs in his mouth reduced somewhat, though his canines were still longer than they should be. He looked practically normal again. In fact, it looked as though a few extra years had been trimmed from his appearance.

 

He reopened his eyes, and Mycroft could see that they had regained their deep brown shade, the opaque redness completely gone as well. One thing that had changed was the addition of several thin veins of silver fragmenting through his irises. Greg inhaled a shuddering breath, blinking slowly as his brow furrowed in confusion. He made a quick scan of the room before his gaze fell upon the man lying underneath him. Surprise surfaced in his expression.

 

“Mycroft?”

 

“Thank God,” Mycroft said, heaving out relieved sigh. “Back with us now?”

 

“What? What was-?” Greg’s voice caught as he noticed the blood trickling from Mycroft’s wrist. “Jesus, you’re hurt!”

 

“It’s not as bad as you think. Though if you wouldn’t mind letting me up? You’re a bit heavy.”

 

Greg hastily shuffled off of Mycroft and helped him sit up. Dizziness swarmed in his head at the change of angle, and he grabbed Greg’s shoulder for support.

 

“Wait, wait, I’ve got you.” Greg wrapped an arm around the back of Mycroft’s upper body and easily lifted him up. Mycroft was all but carried over the couch before Greg settled him against the cushions. He darted out of the room, much faster than Mycroft had seen any human move, and was back in less than a half a minute with a towel. Sitting down next to Mycroft, he took his hand and pressed the cloth against his wound. Mycroft winced.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s all right. You realize though that this isn’t exactly the proper method for treating a puncture wound.”

 

Greg laughed, his nerves clearly showing. “We can do it right later. I just want to stop the bleeding first.” His gaze locked onto Mycroft, apprehension behind his eyes. “What the hell is going on? I feel like I’ve been in some kind of nightmare.”

 

“It’s complicated, I’m afraid. First, may I ask what you remember?”

 

Greg frowned. “I was chasing a suspect near Leicester Square. He was fast; kept dodging me whenever I got close. I think he must have been baiting me the whole time. I lost him down a side street, and then I think something hit me in the head. Everything’s fuzzy after that. I remember waking up near water. Maybe it was the Thames? My head hurt so bad and I couldn’t find my phone. I don’t know why I didn’t ask someone for help. I’m not even sure how I got back here.” Greg put a hand to his forehead, grimacing as though it was difficult to think. “I know I crawled into bed. I could barely move, felt like my body was on fire. Everything just hurt. I don’t remember much else until I sensed you come in-“

 

Greg stopped. He stared at Mycroft, something dark settling over his expression. “I sensed you. You weren’t even in the flat, but I could _feel_ you. Your heartbeat, the temperature of your skin, your scent…” Greg’s pupils dilated, the blackness flaring out from its confines. He leaned in closer to Mycroft, breathing him in. The tips of his fangs peeked into view under his top lip. “God, you smelled so good….”

 

A hard thump knocked against Mycroft’s ribcage as his heart rate increased. He assumed the quavering sensation in his stomach had something to do with his recent blood loss. He swallowed, tightening his good hand into a fist. “Lestrade.”

 

Greg gasped, jerking backwards to the other end of the couch. A realization suddenly seemed to dawn on him. His hand flew up to his mouth, and his thumb made contact with the edge of his fang. His eyes snapped to Mycroft, his face paling even further in horror.

 

“What the fuck? What is this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really liking the feel to this story. I don't want to keep writing too much more of it, because I want to keep to one shots for the November challenge. But later, it might have the potential to grow into something fairly big. Number 11!


	12. Interesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendly discussion with informative results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, part three of Crimson Lines was fighting me to the point that there was no way it was getting done before midnight. So I cranked this out on my phone while out to dinner with the family. Terrible of me, really. XD
> 
> But I do still want to try to get at least that third part done. Hopefully tomorrow, if things work out.

"Okay, first time."

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"First time you had a shag. Go."

 

"That's hardly a polite topic of conversation, Lestrade."

 

"Makes it more interesting, dunnit?"

 

"...Very well. My first year at University. He was a third year studying business law."

 

"Bit of a late bloomer, weren't you?"

 

"Not exactly. It was more a lack of interest. But, when you're surrounded on all sides by hormonal young adults, you start to wonder what the fuss is about."

 

"And? How was it?"

 

"He was considerate enough to take my inexperience into account, but overall I was rather underwhelmed. Still, it gave me a general idea as to the benefits of the activity."

 

"Ha, I bet you're just hard to please."

 

"Hmm. And what about you?"

 

"Halloween party when I was seventeen. I'd just moved to the area, so I didn't really know anyone there. But I managed to pull this one girl dressed as Cleopatra. I think her name was Jill. Or maybe it was Janet? It was some kind of J name, anyway. I had no clue what I was doing, but she walked me through it well enough. We both had a pretty good time, but I didn't really see her again after that."

 

"And when did you discover that you enjoyed the company of men as well?"

 

"Oh, you are good, aren't you?"

 

"As much as I'd like to claim the credit, that information happened to be included in your file."

 

"Fair enough. It's not exactly a secret. I was in Uni like you. My roommate had a friend who went both ways too, and after hearing him talk about it I got curious. So I asked if he'd be willing to show me what it was like. He was a bit reluctant at first, but when he realized I was serious, he agreed."

 

"And it went well, I take it."

 

"Oh, he was brilliant. I had to shove a pillow in my mouth to keep from waking up everyone in the building. He taught me a few fun tricks, too."

 

"Such as?"

 

"Wellllll, there is this one place on the inner thighs I like to go for. Usually get a pretty positive reaction when I suck on it just right."

 

"Ah. That certainly is... informative."

 

 "Heh, you have no idea. But, I'm guessing you'd like one, wouldn't you?"

 

"....Not very subtle, are you, Lestrade?"

 

"Oh, I've been subtle with you for years now. Thought it was about time I was a little more blatant about it."

 

"Interesting. So all this time you’ve been trying to get my attention?"

 

“Why not? You have mine, Mr. Holmes. I’m just returning the favor.”

 

“Thank you. That is rather flattering.”

 

“So then?”

 

“Yes, Inspector. You have my attention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue onlys are sort of a God send when they work out so quickly and I'm pressed for time. Number 12!


	13. Crimson Lines: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to come to terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, this one fought me. But there you go!

“Lestrade, stay calm,” Mycroft said. “I know this must be shocking, but-“

 

“You think?!”

 

“I promise, I will explain everything. But it will not do any good to panic.“

 

“Are you seriously telling me not to panic when I have bloody FANGS?! Why the hell- Whoa, Mycroft!”

 

Mycroft’s vision suddenly blurred, and he reached out blindly for a handhold as he felt himself tilting off balance. Greg was back next to him in an instant, adjusting his weight back against the sofa. “Thank you,” Mycroft said weakly, sinking against the cushion. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the wooziness away. “I don’t suppose you have any orange juice or something similar? I think that would help.”

 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, just lemme check.”

 

Mycroft counted internally as he focused on slowly inhaling and exhaling. His head felt marginally clearer when he felt a cool glass being pushed into his good hand. He murmured another “Thank you” as he took a careful sip.

 

Greg perched back on the couch within arm’s reach of Mycroft, watching him closely. “We should get you to hospital.”

 

“In due time,” Mycroft said, making a dismissive gesture. “Right now, you are my immediate concern.”

 

An indiscernible expression made its way across Greg’s face, but he merely nodded in response. His eyes flicked to the stained towel wrapped around Mycroft’s wrist. “I did that, didn’t I?”

 

The quiet despair in Greg’s voice coiled unpleasantly in Mycroft’s gut. He silently cursed the situation, that Greg was now entangled in matters that should have never touched his life.

 

“Do not blame yourself.”

 

“How can I not?” Greg put his head in his hands, tensing his jaw. “What’s happened to me, Mycroft?”

 

The air felt so heavy in the room, like a thick blanket of tension. Mycroft’s mouth pulled into a thin line as he wondered why giving Greg essential information felt so cruel. “The suspect that you were pursuing has a rare condition present in only a handful of the population. It manifests as a kind of mutation that alters the blood cells throughout the human body. If left unchecked, the disease also causes severe mental deterioration while irreparably altering one’s physiology. Those effects can be prevented, but only by ingesting human blood at regular intervals.” Pausing, he looked at the growing apprehension on Greg’s face, hating how powerless he felt. “That man was afflicted with vampirism, Lestrade, and now, so are you.”

 

There was a soft sound from Greg, as though the breath had deflated from his lungs. It took several attempts for him to form words again. “That’s- that’s mental.”

 

“I know. But I assure you, it’s the truth.”

 

Greg let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. He propped his elbows up on his knees, staring blankly across the room. “I’m a vampire.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And I drank your blood.”

 

“It might be best to not think on that right now.”

 

“Bit difficult,” Greg said gruffly. He shuddered, his hands tightening into fists. “I can still taste your blood, Mycroft. It’s creeping underneath my skin. And it’s not just blood, is it?”

 

Mycroft shifted slightly in his seat, the memory of the event raising heat in the back of his neck. “There’s… generally a transfer of life force during the exchange. It might feel somewhat overwhelming, especially since it was your first feeding.”

 

“Jesus. I can feel it inside me. It’s like some part of you that I took away.”

 

“You took nothing that I did not freely offer.”

 

Greg looked up, the silver in his irises seeming to glint in the low light. “You let me attack you?”

 

“I attempted to reason with you, but you weren’t in your right mind. Giving you blood was the quickest way to bring you back to your senses.”

 

Greg’s shoulders sagged. “So I forced you into that situation.”

 

“Do not misunderstand me,” Mycroft said, his tone much steadier than he thought he should be able to manage at that point. “Granted, I was rather pressed for options. But I came here tonight with full knowledge of the risks involved.” He looked into Greg’s eyes, and he felt an unfamiliar clench in his chest at the uncertainty and guilt that he saw. “You were in pain, Gregory. I could not leave you in that state. Not when I could help you.”

 

Despite the unease in his expression, a small smile crossed Greg’s face. “Gregory? Really? My parents don’t even call me that.”

 

Mycroft huffed a small chuckle through his nose. “My apologies. I’ve always had a preference for the proper forms of names.”

 

“Figures.” Greg sighed, a small portion of his anxiety draining away. “Okay. So, what next then?”

 

“I believe we’ve already passed one of the more difficult hurdles,” Mycroft said, mulling over his thoughts. “Obviously, there will something of a transitional period, but rest assured there are programs in place to make things easier on you.”

 

“Wait, you’re saying the government knows about vampires?”

 

Mycroft allowed a wry chuckle. “Did you not stop to wonder how it was that I knew so much about your affliction? My department is, how you say, well versed on the subject. I even have two such persons on my personal staff. I could arrange for you to speak with them if you’d like, to give you a better understanding of how it all works.”

 

For the first time that evening, Greg started to look optimistic, something that greatly pleased Mycroft. He reached out and touched Mycroft’s shoulder, smiling in a way that made Mycroft feel as though maybe, just maybe, he had actually done some good after all.

 

“Yeah. Works for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know what to do with this one in terms of a full story, but I might try some more one shots in the same universe. Number 13!


	14. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard sometimes to know what Mycroft thinks, and Greg has trouble asking.

The lead-in to Greg’s former marriage had been that frantic, dizzying kind of courtship where he and his ex-wife couldn’t keep their hands off each other for even a day, marrying too quickly out of foolishness and high passions. That might have been the reason why it ended up fizzling out the way it had. But for all his regrets, it had taught him the value of a slower momentum, of just allowing things to move forward at their own pace. Good thing, too, when it came to Mycroft Holmes.

 

Greg had initially found Mycroft to be stoic, condescending, and in those instances when Greg had been short on patience, infuriating. It seemed in a mere blink that Mycroft had gone from an unassuming shadow that every so often followed Sherlock onto crime scenes to a reoccurring upheaval of Greg’s normal routine. It didn't help that Mycroft would frame his varying demands with that faux polite angle of `my apologies for the inconvenience, but if you wouldn’t mind dropping everything whilst you bend over to my whims?`, generally accompanied by that undercurrent of `and no, Detective Inspector, you don’t have any say in the matter, but it’s quite adorable that you think you do’.

 

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. Greg had often contested Mycroft’s misguided notion that he would automatically run for a measuring stick every time the man said `jump`. And to Greg’s surprise (and relief), Mycroft hadn’t seemed to take any offense to his occasional requests to piss off. In fact, Greg had gotten the distinct feeling that it impressed him.

 

And he couldn’t deny the man had a certain magnetism about him; a contradicting puzzle wrapped into a Savile Row three-piece package. As their association went on, Greg would catch little flashes of the person buried underneath the persona of imposing government official. Intellectual on a dizzying scale, yet somewhat dense when it came to social interactions outside of work. Detached and unyielding to the point of heartlessness, and yet with an unexpected compassion for a volatile little brother. The transition from begrudgingly tolerating Mycroft’s presence to forming a fascination for the little intricacies of his personality had been so gradual that it actually startled Greg when he realized it had happened.

 

And then Greg began to notice how Mycroft’s attitude towards him had shifted as well. How those polite, indifferent smiles had started being accompanied by real warmth, just barely visible in Mycroft’s eyes. And he couldn’t help but find it odd that Mycroft kept pulling in him for debriefings, and yet as time went on, their meetings started to have less and less to do with Sherlock or work matters.

 

Things always had a tendency of sneaking up on Greg, and becoming attracted to Mycroft Holmes was really no different. But arriving at that realization had not been much of a consolation, especially when dealing with a man as inscrutable as Mycroft. He had grown more responsive towards Greg, yes, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything beyond a friendly working relationship. Greg could have been fooling himself, attaching significance to Mycroft’s actions where there was none. For a few months, Greg had hovered on whether or not it was worth the taking the plunge and asking Mycroft about his side of things. He’d never had that much difficulty in declaring his interest in someone, but it all felt so much more complicated with Mycroft.

 

There came a night where they’d been sitting in a meeting that had only been about ten minutes of actual business. Then the conversation had shifted around to other topics like Greg’s current cases, shared commiserations about both of their workloads, and a spirited debate about what the best place would be to retire if either of them had their way. A particularly clever quip from Greg had left Mycroft shaking with laughter. Greg had smiled over how at ease the man had looked, leaning back in his chair with one hand covering his mouth as he struggled to compose himself.

 

“Let’s get dinner.”

 

Greg’s throat had gone dry the second he’d blurted out the offer. Whatever foolish surge of confidence he’d had fizzled and died at the sight of Mycroft’s blank stare. He’d swallowed, the ensuing silence deafening as he mentally scrambled to dig himself out of the proverbial hole he’d just buried himself in.

 

Then Mycroft had gotten to his feet and pulled on his jacket, giving his cuffs a cursory adjustment before eyeing Greg expectantly.

 

“What did you have in mind?”

 

It’d been a slow progression of dinners, lunches, and coffee dates to arrive at where they were now. At first, Greg had been sure that Mycroft had only accepted his initial invitation as a courtesy. Their continued involvement with each other seemed to say otherwise, but there was something so restrained in the way that Mycroft treated him. He supposed his own insecurity was partially to blame. They spent time together, kissed, engaged in a few occasions of physical intimacy, but it all felt so cautious.

 

“Gregory?”

 

Greg jerked back to the present at the sound of Mycroft’s voice. His expression was sheepish as he wondered how long he’d been preoccupied during their dinner. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

 

“Hm. May I ask about what? You seem as though you’ve been distracted lately.”

 

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” Greg said with a laugh. He lowered his sightline to Mycroft’s tie, not quite able to look him in the face. “We’re doing good, right? It seems like it, but I guess that I’m not sure how you feel about all this. And… sometimes I think the only reason that we’re still going is that you’re too decent a bloke to tell me to jog on.”

 

There was a clink as Mycroft set his fork down. Greg watched as he folded one hand over the other and leaned forward on his forearms. “I would not be pursuing you if I did not want you, Gregory.”

 

Greg’s head shot up, Mycroft’s gaze immediately pinning him to the spot. His breath caught at the never-before-seen intensity behind the man’s eyes.

 

“Yes, I said pursuing. Do you think I would still be here if I found you unworthy? That would be a waste of my energy and time, two things I don’t spare lightly.” Then Mycroft paused. For the first time in Greg’s memory, he actually looked self-conscious. His expression resettled as he lifted his chin to the appropriate condescending height. “So rest assured, I do wish to be with you. And if I have been remiss in demonstrating that, then I shall take great pains to rectify that mistake as soon as possible.”

 

Greg let out a slow breath. “Jesus, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft blinked, clearing his throat as he took a sip from his wine glass. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I was unsure as well, Gregory. The idea that someone such as yourself would find me desirable; I had not thought such a thing possible. I am relieved to find my doubts unwarranted.”

 

Mycroft started as Greg’s hand covered his own. Their eyes met, and Greg smiled at the visible blush that crept up Mycroft’s cheekbones. As he threaded their fingers together, he could only feel gratitude for this moment, a reminder that in the future, he just needed to have a little more patience. And faith.

 

“I feel the same way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I often save parts I scrap from other stories to use for later, and that was what this arose out of. Pleased with it! Number 14!


	15. Confusion: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft finds Greg distracting, and he doesn't know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to try a little Teen Mystrade!

Mycroft sees Greg for the first time on his way between classes. He crosses a large, grassy courtyard where people are scattered about chatting, lying in the sun, or studying. It’s only a momentary glance, but his eyes somehow land on a young man standing in a group of three other students. Mycroft doesn’t recognize him. It’s a large school, so that’s no surprise, but it might be that reason why his eyes linger for a few seconds.

 

His denim jacket is sleeveless, with a wrinkled gray button up underneath. Those sleeves are rolled to just above his elbows, with a hint of an intricate tattoo on his right bicep peeking out. The jeans he has on look to be a size too small, but that only has the effect of accentuating his hips and the curve of his thighs. His dark hair is unkempt, but not ridiculously so, and light stubble hugs his upper lip and jawline. He has a thin metal chain looped around his neck, and a silver stud in each ear.

 

Mycroft is close to finishing his clinical observation when the man’s eyes shift ever so slightly and latch onto his. There’s a moment of confusion on the one side at being watched, and awkwardness on the other from having been caught. Mycroft tenses as he’s sized up much in the same way that he’d just been guilty of. He isn’t used to being on the receiving end.

 

Then, there’s a tilt of the head, and one side of the young man’s mouth quirks in amusement. From the direct line of sight, Mycroft can see that his eye colour closely matches his hair. Unsettled, he turns his face away and quickens his steps towards his destination. He can feel that gaze poking at his back as he hurries off, but he shakes it off as paranoid nonsense.

 

The incident is largely forgotten after that. Mycroft doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on it, not with several important exams looming in the distance. The next few days find him buried in textbooks and papers, stopping only for essentials such as food and sleep. After his last class on Friday, Mycroft heads into the largest library on the campus. Since it’s the weekend, he’s anticipating a smaller crowd than normal. There are study tables scattered throughout the book stacks, and he finds an empty one in a quiet corner of the second floor. He settles in and passes his first hour revisiting his International Relations notes.

 

It's the sound of a chair being dragged back that breaks his concentration. He raises his head in annoyance to find those dark eyes that he thought he’d put out of his mind watching him.

 

“Hey. Mind if I sit here?”

 

Mycroft narrows his eyes, annoyed at the interruption and at the return of that disconcerted feeling from a few days ago. “I’d prefer to be alone, actually.”

 

“Yeahhhhh, I figured,” the young man says, already dumping his bag on the floor. He slides into the chair that he’s pulled out and grins in a manner that sets Mycroft even more on edge. “Bit busy in here today, though. I’m having some trouble finding my own table.”

 

A lie, and from the expression on the other man’s face, he has no intention in hiding it. Somehow that annoys Mycroft even more. But it seems more conducive to Mycroft’s studies to not waste time arguing, so he nods. “Fine.”

 

He redoubles his focus on his work, patently not looking at the intruder as he digs out a few books and a pen. “By the way, I’m Greg,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. Mycroft refuses to acknowledge him any further, and after a moment Greg shrugs and opens his notes.

 

Mycroft is almost able to block out Greg’s presence as he moves on to his Economics papers. Then his eye twitches as he hears a muted tap. It’s quickly followed by another, then another. Mycroft clenches his jaw as he looks up again. Greg is seemingly absorbed in his own work as he drums a finger against the table. He stops long enough to lift said finger to his lips, gently skimming his tongue against the pad. Mycroft sucks in a sudden breath through his nose, but Greg takes no notice as he uses the moistened digit to flip the current page of his book over. Mycroft swallows, unnerved by the surge of heat rolling in his gut.

 

There is a second where Mycroft thinks that the reaction is just another part of his growing irritation. Then Greg slips the end of his pen into his mouth, idly sucking on the tip as he props his chin up on his knuckle.

 

Mycroft jumps to his feet, his chair clattering backwards. He hastily grabs his things and stuffs them into his bag, the atmosphere suddenly stifling to him.

 

“Whoa, you okay? What’s wrong?” Greg is on his feet too, concern etched across his face. He reaches out a hand, and Mycroft flinches away, shooting a withering glare at him.

 

“You’re distracting,” he says.

 

Then he stalks away as fast as he can without running, once again unable to escape the sensation of Greg’s eyes until he’s out of the building and well on his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought I'd be totally late on this since I started it really late, but it flowed fairly well. I've never tried writing in present tense before, so getting used to that threw me off a bit. If I'm right, this will only be a two parter. Number 15! Halfway there!


	16. Confusion: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft figures things out. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention I generally tend to go back and tweak mistakes and whatnot after I post, since I beta read these things myself and don't always catch my mistakes the first few passes. I think that's okay though? Hopefully.

Whereas before Mycroft had never noticed Greg around uni, now he seems to spot him almost every other day. Greg never approaches him, but he usually gives a quick wave and/or a cheeky wink. But sometimes, he simply smiles in a confounding, inscrutable way. Mycroft doesn’t know what to make of this behavior, or why it flusters him so much. His ingrained distrust of people leads him to believe that he’s being mocked, but it’s such an odd way of going about it. He can’t imagine why anyone would want to go to so much trouble just to send him up. There’s no one he can ask about Greg’s character, at least no one that he cares to ask. Truthfully, the only people he says more than three words to are his professors, and even then only when he has to.

 

He does manage a bit of background digging on Greg, utilizing his own admittedly unorthodox methods. Greg Lestrade, second of three siblings. His family currently resides near London, but they previously lived closer to Somerset. He has a bit of a history in his record, but nothing more than minor misdemeanors. He’s attending uni on a scholarship, and his grades are quite solid. His aim appears to be in some career in law enforcement if his focus on criminal justice and police science is any indication.

 

This information does little to answer Mycroft’s questions. If anything, now he’s curious as well as unsettled. People are normally so predictable, so easy for him to read. But Greg is the kind of puzzle that Mycroft can’t seem to get a grasp on, and it’s something that niggles at him constantly.

 

Exams go by without much fanfare. Mycroft has no doubt he’s passed them all, not that he had any concern over that. He still has a few days before he’ll be returning home for a short visit, so he spends his time going for walks and reading. Though without studying preoccupying his attention, Greg is now at the forefront of his thoughts. He finds it exasperating that he’s expending so much mental energy on a person he barely knows, though he never stops to ask himself why.

 

Mycroft is passing through the main quad on a late Thursday afternoon when he spots the object of his reoccurring distraction. Greg is sitting against the trunk of a large tree, one knee drawn up and a cigarette hanging from his fingers as he gazes out disinterestedly at the middle distance. He glances up as Mycroft’s shadow falls over him, that vague smile forming on his face.

 

“All right?”

 

Just that small greeting and already Mycroft feels knocked off his equilibrium. He nods. “Hello, Greg.”

 

“Huh, you remembered my name. Didn’t even get yours before you legged it last time.”

 

Sensing heat rising in his cheeks, Mycroft fidgets internally before saying, “Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes.”

 

Greg’s smile widens. “Suits you.” He sits up slightly, squinting at Mycroft. “Mind sitting? Bit hard to see you with the sun and all.”

 

Mycroft wavers indecisively, part of him still suspicious of Greg’s motives. He finally drops to the ground, awkwardly folding his legs under him. Greg chuckles low in his chest as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette. Mycroft watches, strangely transfixed by the way Greg’s lips close around the filter.

 

“You want?” Greg asks, startling Mycroft until he offers over the cigarette. Mycroft takes a quick breath before shaking his head. Greg shrugs and leans back against the tree again.

 

“Truthfully, I already knew your name. Been asking around about you.”

 

Mycroft’s throat goes a bit dry. “You have?”

 

“Mm-hm. Got curious after I saw you that first time.”

 

“Oh. And what did you discover?”

 

Greg blows out a stream of smoke, rolling his cigarette between his thumb and index finger. “Mycroft Holmes. Brilliant, but a massive stick up his arse. Keeps to himself, thinks everyone around him is boring even though he’s boring as fuck.” He glances over and catches the way that Mycroft’s mouth tightens. “That’s just what people said.”

 

“Then why did you want to sit with me in the library?”

 

“Ah.” Greg actually looks sheepish for once. “I guess I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of you.”

 

Mycroft furrows his brow, perplexed. “Wait. You were deliberately provoking me?”

 

“Yeah,” Greg says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I acted like a wanker. But it did help me suss something out.”

 

“That being?” Mycroft asks, unsure of if he’s insulted or not.

 

Greg turns his head in Mycroft’s direction. “That they were wrong. I don’t think you’re boring at all." Greg pushes himself away from the tree, his expression going from ambiguous to purposeful. "You make me wanna unravel you. Get past that perfect composure, and find out what you’re really like underneath it all.” Mycroft’s heart goes out of sync as Greg's smile becomes a mixture of warmth and mischief. “And you said something interesting too.”

 

“I did?”

 

“Oh yeah.” Greg edges closer, tossing his cigarette away. He licks his lips, and Mycroft loses a portion of his higher brain functions. “You said I distracted you.”

 

“I- That’s-“

 

“Which means, I’m not boring either, am I?”

 

Breathing takes a concentrated effort now. Greg’s gaze is consuming him, his body feeling diluted and fuzzy. He tries to speak but no words come out when Greg fully enters his personal space. Mycroft shudders but remains where he is as a hand reaches out, sliding up along his jawline. Greg pauses, eyes darting over Mycroft’s face for a moment. Then, he tilts his chin up and fits their mouths together.

 

Mycroft’s eyes flutter closed, heat expanding out from his core. Greg takes his little moan for his own and Mycroft finds that he doesn’t care. His hands light upon Greg’s waist, and he nearly crumples apart at the soft growl that he gets in response. Greg starts to demonstrate clever uses of his tongue, and by that point Mycroft is insensible to anything else around them.

 

He still doesn’t quite understand. But it doesn’t matter. He’s willing to let Greg’s informative methods speak for themselves. No, not boring.

 

Not boring at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another pleasant surprise on how this turned out. Number 16!


	17. Open-Minded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always nice to try new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting into that M-rated territory again!

“Okay, finished! What do you think?”

 

“Well done. It's rather an ingenious design, actually.”

 

“Easy to set up, too. You just toss it under the mattress and let the straps hang out the sides.”

 

“Interesting. And the lengths are adjustable?”

 

“Yep! We can make ‘em as tight or loose as we want.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Well, why don’t you lie on the bed and get comfortable, Gregory?”

 

“Heh. Alright.”

 

“I must say, this was an inspired purchase on your part.”

 

“Glad you approve. Thanks for being so open to trying this, Myc. I thought I’d completely put you off the first time I brought it up.”

 

“I admit, I was surprised that your tastes veered in such a colourful direction. But now, I’m quite looking forward to assisting you in this endeavor.”

 

“That’s the spirit. Can’t wait to see you put that enthusiasm to good use.”

 

“Indeed. There. How does it feel? They’re not chafing, are they?”

 

“Nah, I don’t think they will. They feel pretty soft.”

 

“Good. These cuffs are somewhat simple, though. Perhaps I could contribute a new set for next time? I believe some red ones would complement your skin quite nicely.”

 

“Oh, someone’s getting into this.”

 

“How can I not? You make such a lovely picture. So trusting, so willing to put yourself in my hands. I can’t begin to describe how you affect me.”

 

“Myc…”

 

“Mmm, the things I wish to do to you...”

 

“Ngh…! Um, d-do you wanna tighten up the slack or-?”

 

“No. I rather like having you restricted to this degree-“

 

“Fuck!”

 

“-with just enough room to writhe against me. God, but you are intoxicating.”

 

“AH! Myc, please...”

 

“Shhh. No more talking, my dear. We have all night to play. And I plan to enjoy my time with you quite thoroughly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I like sexy, confident Mycroft too. He's just fun to write. Number 17!


	18. Mum's the Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John stumbles onto a revelation he wasn't expecting.

John rounded the corner of Baker Street, adjusting the grocery bags hanging from his arms. He’d been in a fairly mellow mood since leaving the Tesco, but as he drew closer and closer to 221, the previous irritation that had accompanied the start of his shopping excursion began simmering up again. He’d ignored Sherlock’s request that he procure a cow’s tongue and vinegar. The only thing that great prat was getting was the large jug of bleach that John had gotten so the rampant mold growth that had taken up residence in the fridge could be scrubbed out. And if Sherlock thought that he was dodging the cleanup duty when he'd allowed the infestation to destroy half of their food, then John had at least five highly rude one-worded responses to that.

 

He was still some distance away from the flat on the other side of the street when he saw the door open. A little sigh of displeasure rose in his throat as Sherlock’s brother emerged from the entrance. Mycroft stepped off to the side of the door, annoyance evident in his features. John supposed he could thank Sherlock’s thoughtlessness for sparing him from that particular fraternal visit. The downside was the certainty of the detective’s brooding temper.

 

John slowed, thinking he’d prefer to wait it out until Mycroft had left. Then he noticed Greg Lestrade approaching 221 from the opposite direction. He let out an audible groan, rolling his eyes. Oh, Sherlock was going to be hell to deal with for the rest of the night. They might avoid the impending strop if Greg had an interesting case to offer, but judging from the DI’s easy-going disposition, that seemed unlikely. John began awkwardly fishing for his phone. He still had time to text Greg and warn him of Sherlock’s tempestuous mood.

 

“Mycroft!”

 

John looked up the same time that Mycroft’s head turned in the direction of Greg’s shout. To John’s surprise, Greg gave the elder Holmes a cheery wave and quickened his pace towards the flat. It took John a moment of reminding himself to recall that Greg and Mycroft were actually acquainted. But he didn’t really know to what extent, beyond Sherlock’s disdainful remarks about it in Dartmoor. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember a single time he’d ever seen Mycroft and Greg occupying the same space. He couldn’t help but be curious about how two such dissimilar personalities meshed when face to face.

 

From the looks of it, rather well. The tension in Mycroft’s demeanor softened as he recognized Greg. John could almost swear he looked… happy. Greg came to a stop in front of Mycroft, his expression much easier to read. He grinned, saying words that John couldn’t hear from where he was. A corner of Mycroft’s mouth twitched up as he replied. He made a sort of dismissive gesture, indicting the window of 221B with a long-suffering sigh. Greg shook his head, saying something else as he rocked back on his heels once. It was a bit surreal how natural their back and forth appeared to be. Even stranger was how at ease the oh-so-cold and uptight Mycroft Holmes seemed.

 

Then Mycroft laughed. A genuine smile broke out over his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth. Mycroft met Greg’s eyes again, and John felt a jolt of shock at the gentle fondness he saw present. The two went silent for a second. Greg glanced around, suddenly looking uncertain. He finally offered his hand to Mycroft, giving a small, sheepish shrug.

 

An inscrutable look flitted across Mycroft’s face. He took Greg’s hand, catching him off guard as he tugged him forward a step. John sucked in a breath as they stared at each other, standing much closer together than would be considered polite for two work colleagues. Greg smiled, leaning in as he spoke directly in Mycroft’s ear. After pulling back, he released Mycroft with a wink before turning and heading into 221. Mycroft watched him go, his gaze lingering on the door to the flat long after Greg had disappeared inside. Then his expression shifted back into that dispassionate mask, and he walked away in the direction Greg had come from.

 

John was still glued to the same spot across the street, completely shell-shocked. His brain was reeling from the utter impossibility of what he’d just witnessed. How had he missed it? How had Sherlock missed it?! How was this even real?!

 

It was another ten minutes of frantic self-reflection before John finally moved his feet towards the flat again. Okay. Obviously, that wasn’t something he was supposed to see. And if Sherlock didn’t know, there was no way John was going to be the one to tell him. He would be questioning Greg at a later date, there was no doubt of that. But for now, John would feign blissful ignorance. At least so he could be around Greg without his brain imploding. The last few minutes? Didn't happen.

 

Nope, nothing to see here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got John in one of these, though not sure he got to shine very much. I'd like give him a bit more attention in the future. Number 18!


	19. Correlations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it only takes one small step to get the ball rolling.

As a general rule, Mycroft didn’t really care for animals. The closest familiarity that Mycroft could equate with owning a pet was the years spent in close proximity to Sherlock’s dog, Redbeard. Thankfully, he hadn’t had to expend much energy in dealing with the creature, as his brother and it had been all but inseparable. Mycroft would begrudgingly admit to a few fond memories; the animal had always been stupidly affectionate, even to him. But otherwise, he didn’t see the appeal.

 

And as unnecessary as he considered dogs, he found cats to be even more so. Since modern extermination methods had rendered their one appreciable skill as obsolete, they amounted to little more than destructive novelty items in Mycroft’s eyes. A ridiculous investment of time and money for rather ambiguous benefits. He also had an innate dislike of the species in general. Nosy, unpleasant, brooding animals. It always felt like he was being judged somehow whenever one looked at him.

 

Mycroft was already in a somewhat bad-temper when he arrived at NSY for a meeting with Detective Inspector Lestrade one afternoon. The day had been littered with ineffectual officials who couldn’t seem to manage a single decision without a cookie and a hug. His one consolation was the assurance that his meeting with Lestrade would go smoothly, as at least he could usually be counted on to demonstrate basic competency. And even when Lestrade was at his most bullheadedness, he usually had a solid argument to back it up.

 

It was the reason why Mycroft had a great deal of respect for the DI, which was a rare thing considering his opinion of the general populace. Even rarer was the fact that it was never tedious dealing with Lestrade. In fact, he might even admit to enjoying their interactions.

 

But only a little. And only to himself.

 

Lestrade had offered to meet in the side parking lot during his break so that Mycroft wouldn’t have to wait in his office. Mycroft had his driver drop him off across the street with instructions to return in half an hour unless called back sooner. While approaching, he caught sight of Lestrade stooping low to the ground near a wall, partially blocked from view by a parked car. Mycroft’s puzzlement only lasted until he got close enough to bypass the visual obstacle.

 

A large brown tomcat sat on its haunches in front of Greg, its tail flicking back and forth on the pavement. Greg was crouched down with his elbows resting on his thighs. He murmured something low under his breath, slowly stretching out his hand. The cat’s head drew back slightly as though in suspicion, but Greg paused and waited with his palm up. The cat hesitantly leaned forward to sniff at the offered fingers, and a smile lit up Greg’s face.

 

“That’s a good boy,” he said, moving closer to scratch along the cat’s jaw. Abruptly the cat jerked away with a growl, slapping at Greg’s wrist with its paw. It glowered for few more seconds before turning and slinking away.

 

Standing up, Greg took a moment to examine his arm. He didn’t notice that Mycroft had joined him.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“Oh! Mycroft, hey.” Distracted, Greg brushed his thumb against light red scratch on his skin. “Yeah, I’m good. Shouldn’t have pushed it. He’s a cranky little git.”

 

Mycroft eyed Greg inquisitively. “You’re familiar with that creature?”

 

“He’s kind of a regular around the Yard. Some of the staff leaves food out for him, though we’re really not supposed to do that. We’ve called animal rescue a few times to come and pick him up, but they can never catch him.” Greg chuckled. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s probably smarter than anyone working here.”

 

Mycroft nearly remarked out loud how that wasn’t much of a stretch, but he kept his thoughts in his head. “You seem quite fond of him.”

 

“Sure. Technically, I’m really more of a dog person. But there’s something that stupid bugger that I like.”

 

“Hm.” Mycroft frowned. This topic held no real value to him, and yet he couldn’t help his curiosity. “And what would that be?”

 

“Well… I guess it’s because he’s such a bastard, you know?”

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, and Greg gave a crooked grin. “It’s hard to explain. He seems like such an arsehole at first glance. Standoffish, acts like he doesn’t need anyone, just as soon bite you than look at you. But I can’t help but think there’s more to it. I think that maybe the world hasn’t always been very kind to him, and he had to learn to get by without trusting anyone around him. But life hasn’t quite beaten him down completely. I think there’s still some part of him that wants to believe in people. That he comes back here day after day hoping to find that one person that’ll show him it’s okay to trust again.”

 

Greg glanced at Mycroft, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. It was gone the next second. “Maybe I’m just full of it. But I’d like to be that for him. At the very least, I can show him that there’s a friendly face looking out for him if he needs it. Maybe he’ll feel less lonely that way.”

 

Mycroft shifted, for some reason feeling like a nerve inside him had been prodded. “Decent of you,” he said quietly.

 

“I guess.” Greg shrugged, avoiding Mycroft’s gaze. “I’m probably just overthinking it. It’s not like he really needs my help to get by.”

 

“Perhaps not. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t benefit from it.” Mycroft pursed his lips as Greg met his eyes again, suddenly feeling mentally wide open. It was only the equally exposed look on Greg’s face that kept Mycroft from retreating back behind his walls again. “I think he understands what you’re trying to do. If you give him time, he’ll come around in the end.”

 

Greg considered him for a long moment, seeming to weigh Mycroft’s words internally. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Hope so.” Clearing his throat, he straightened up and began moving toward the Yard. “Anyway, I’ve probably wasted enough of your time. We should get that meeting going.”

 

“Ah, actually-“ Mycroft's voice faltered, and Greg turned back to him as he spoke. He scrambled to regroup from his verbal stumble. “What I need to talk with you about isn’t strictly confidential, and there’s really no reason why we must do it here.” His throat suddenly went a touch dry, and he swallowed against it. “I could arrange for us to have dinner at my club while we discuss matters. That is, if you were amenable?”

 

Greg’s emerging smile both flustered and delighted Mycroft. “That’s- Yeah! Okay, that’d be great. What time were you thinking?”

 

“Would seven thirty be acceptable?”

 

“Sounds good!” Greg’s smile graduated into a full on grin. “Alright, I should get back to work then. See you tonight.” And with that, he jogged back into NSY, seeming almost gleeful.

 

Mycroft let out a shaky breath, unsure of what he’d just done. But amidst the nerves bouncing in his stomach, he felt extraordinarily light as well. Refusing to admit that this was any kind of big deal, or that he happened to be smiling, he began walking out of the parking lot. He stopped as he saw the tomcat from before perched on one of the cars to his right. As he watched, the cat licked at its paw a few times before cocking its head and regarding him an almost wry expression.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Mycroft huffed before turning his back and stalking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a cat person, myself. And I especially like those quintisential cats. You know, the prissy, I-own-you kind of cats that act like they couldn't care less if you're there but then always betray themselves with how needy they are for your attention. It's kind of adorable to me. 
> 
> Number 19!


	20. Overthinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg doesn't know how he feels about Mycroft's ex. But Mycroft quickly sets him straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely a bit M-rated again! 
> 
> Edit: Went back and fixed a few lines that were bugging me.

Greg exited the elevator that led to Mycroft’s office, weaving through the desks of silent employees. He stopped in front of Mycroft’s door just as Anthea was closing it.

 

“Hey. He ready?”

 

“Detective Inspector. He’s finishing up with Mr. Holloway, but you can go ahead in.”

 

“Oh.” Greg’s mood dipped somewhat when he heard the name. He quickly schooled his expression, trying to go for something nonchalant. “Okay. Thanks, Anthea.”

 

It wasn’t enough to fool Anthea, but she said nothing. She merely gave him a small nod and headed back to her own office. Greg turned back to the door, taking a breath before twisting the knob.

 

Mycroft was in the middle of laughing at something when Greg entered. His already easy smile broadened, and he rose from his desk.

 

“Gregory, good to see you. You remember Edmund, don’t you?”

 

Greg swallowed slightly as the man sitting in front of the desk got to his feet. He offered his palm, hoping that his smile didn’t come off as a grimace. “Sure. Nice to see you again, Mr. Holloway.”

 

Edmund Holloway gave Greg a firm handshake, good-humor in his green eyes. “And you, Greg.” He stood a few centimeters taller than Greg, a solid frame outlined in a dark gray suit. His short black hair was swept back and styled to one side, offsetting his olive complexion. With his oval chin and distinctive cheekbones, his overall features came together in a rather striking combination.

 

Edmund stepped back and slid his hand into his trouser pocket, leaning his weight to one side. “Things going well at the Yard?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Greg said, suddenly feeling a bit unkempt in his work outfit when next to Edmund. “Always busy, but I can’t complain.”

 

Edmund smiled, a flash of perfect teeth showing. “I can imagine. Mycroft was just saying that your schedules don’t often line up as much as he’d like. Though I remember that being the case for the two of us as well,” he said, glancing over at Mycroft with a wink.

 

Mycroft chuckled, the effortlessness of it causing an uncomfortable twist in Greg’s stomach. “Well, our workloads were quite extensive back then. There were periods of time where the only contact we had with each other was a five-minute phone call once a week.”

 

“True! Pursuing a career in government doesn’t often overlap well with a relationship,” Edmund said sympathetically. “But I’m pleased that you both are managing better than Mycroft and I did.”

 

Greg worked to keep his genial façade as natural looking as possible. “Thanks. Can’t say that we’ve got it perfect. But I think we’ve got a good balance going.”

 

Mycroft glanced sidelong at Greg for a second, a slight comprehension flickering behind his eyes. Edmund didn’t seem to notice.

 

“Glad to hear it! Well, I should be off then. Mycroft, always a pleasure.”

 

“Likewise,” Mycroft said, walking Edmund to the door. Greg deliberately looked at the wall when they grasped each other’s hands, Edmund reaching over to squeeze Mycroft’s bicep. Once Edmund was out of the room and the door had been closed, Greg turned to Mycroft, managing a not completely stiff smile.

 

“So, uh, we should head out soon, yeah? Dinner reservation’s for seven.”

 

Mycroft tilted his head, a pensive frown forming. “If you’d like. But before we do, would you like to tell what is troubling you, or would you rather continue brooding on it on your own?”

 

Apprehension abruptly clenched in Greg’s chest. For an instant, he thought of trying to dodge the question, or feigning ignorance. Neither option was really practical in the face of Mycroft’s scrutiny. So he sighed, shrugging his shoulders “Sorry, Myc. I didn’t mean to be so obvious about it.”

 

Mycroft’s frown deepened. He went to Greg’s side, his concern growing more and more apparent. “I won’t pry if you’d prefer not to discuss it, Gregory. But I do wish you would confide in me. I’d like to be able to help you.”

 

“It’s bloody idiotic though, Myc.”

 

“But perhaps it’s not. Is it something to do with Edmund? You don’t appear to enjoy his company.”

 

“It’s not that. I mean, it is, but-” Greg wanted to smack himself for how ridiculous he was being. “I guess it's just that you two seem so close.”

 

“Well, yes, Edmund and I remained friends after we stopped seeing each other. But why should that bother-“

 

It was interesting how much subtler Mycroft’s epiphany face was in comparison to Sherlock’s. No gaping mouth or stunned exclamation. For Mycroft, it was only a widening of the eyes and a slight intake of air.

 

“You’re jealous.”

 

Greg winced, glancing away. It sounded just as pathetic out loud as it had in his head. “Yeah, a bit. I mean, I know I'm probably overthinking it. But he seems like such a good match for you, not to mention how fit he is. Part of me keeps wondering why you’re settling for me if you could have someone like him.”

 

Mycroft suddenly huffed a small snort of laughter. Greg looked at him again, puzzled at his expression of wry fondness.

 

“You’re right. It is a touch idiotic of you to think that.”

 

Greg raised an eyebrow, but Mycroft merely shook his head.

 

“I won’t deny that I enjoyed my time with Edmund. He was generally an agreeable sort of person, and we got along well together. However,” he said, stepping in closer to Greg, “you are something quite different.”

 

Greg’s heart rate quickened as a palm flattened on his chest. Mycroft gave him a light shove, following his trek backwards until Greg's shoulders had bumped against the wall. Greg exhaled unsteadily, Mycroft crowding in and slotting a leg between his. There was heat in Mycroft’s gaze as he leaned forward.

 

“I did not understand what it meant to truly desire someone before I met you,” he said, the words little more than hot breath against Greg’s ear. He traced his tongue along the lobe and chuckled warmly at the shudder he got in response. “And just to be clear, I do not `settle`, Gregory. Not in matters like this.” Mycroft moved his focus to Greg’s throat, licking and nipping his way down. He fastened his mouth onto a spot just above the collarbone, pushing harder into Greg when he arched up. Greg bit down a groan as Mycroft’s knee shifted upwards, adding to the slowly building constriction in his jeans.

 

“I am with you because I want you. I want everything that you are. And I want you to want me just as badly.”

 

Mycroft suddenly pulled back, and Greg whimpered unhappily at the loss of that delicious pressure between his thighs. Warm fingers curled around Greg's wrist, and then his hand was lifted and pressed against the front of Mycroft's trousers. Blood pounded in Greg’s ears as Mycroft’s head fell back, a low moan rising from his throat.

 

“That is what you do to me, Gregory,” he said breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut while he trembled in Greg’s grasp. “No one else can affect me like this. Not Edmund, not anyone. Please…”

 

Fire coiled into Greg’s midsection. He hooked his free hand around the back of Mycroft’s neck and tugged his head forward again, their kiss clumsy but hard and desperate. Mycroft gasped against his lips and Greg grinned. “How much time do we have?” he asked.

 

“Not long enough.”

 

“No problem. We’ll skip the restaurant. First, I owe you a long and thorough apology for acting like a prat.”

 

“God, yes. But if this is how Edmund makes you react, I may need to see him more frequently in the future.”

 

“Oh, you’re paying for that.”

 

“I dearly hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work got in my way a bit today, so this was later than I wanted. But it's also bit longer too, so I hope that helps. Number 20!


	21. Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's severe workload comes to a head.

There were few things that Mycroft disliked more in this world than being stuck in a hospital bed. One thing that happened to be worse was being stuck in a hospital bed while in the middle of several high stakes negotiations, as well as planning for upcoming meetings about said negotiations. And that didn’t even cover the paperwork involved in it all. He'd been proceeding at what he considered to be a better than average pace before this all happened. But at least he was reasonably sure that he wouldn’t be trapped in this particular circle of hell for too long.

 

Thankfully, someone had seen fit to bring along his phone when he’d been brought in. He might have been momentarily inconvenienced, but he could get some work done via texts and emails. With any luck, he’d finish his round of fluids, Anthea would come to fetch him, and he’d finally be allowed to return to more important issues.

 

He glanced up from the PDF he’d been reading at the nurse who entered his room. “Mr. Lestrade was wondering if he could see you now.”

 

Mycroft scowled, a spark of spitefulness resurfacing. But he nodded. “Very well.” He placed his phone on the mattress as the nurse left and straightened up, mentally pushing the bulk of his annoyance back into a secure cavern of his mind. Though it was hard to say how much civility he could manage when his patience was this sorely taxed.

 

The door opened, and Mycroft turned his head away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Greg standing in the entranceway. His face was strangely blank, save for the stiff line of his lips. He stared at Mycroft for a long moment, a kind of unspoken stalemate hanging in the air between them. Greg finally sighed, moving into the room and sitting in the chair next to Mycroft’s bed.

 

“Bought you some tea,” he said, setting the paper cup that he had brought on the side table. “Not great, but figured it would be better than the shite they’d have here.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. There was another period of awkward silence before he said, “So I guess you’ve got nothing to say, then.”

 

“That is my preference, yes,” Mycroft said tersely. “Though I suppose my wishes matter very little to you.”

 

“Don’t.” Greg worked his jaw, the first traces of his temper beginning to surface. “Don't you do that. You don’t get to sit there and blame me for this.”

 

“Really? Because as I recall, you were the one who insisted on bringing me here.”

 

“You were out cold when I found you! What was I supposed to do?!”

 

“I woke up, didn’t I? I probably could have returned to the office by now.”

 

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. "You're not going back to work. Anthea and I agreed that you need to take the day and rest."  

 

Mycroft bristled. “This is intolerable. I am trying to resolve matters of international importance!"

 

“I don't care, Mycroft! You can’t keep doing this! When’s the last time you ate? Or slept?”

 

"I cannot shirk my responsibilities just to cater to your trivial concerns.”

 

“I’m not asking you to cater to me,” Greg said, gritting his teeth as he struggled to maintain a moderate speaking volume. “I’m just asking that you take better care of yourself.”

 

“I have managed that perfectly well up until this point.”

 

“Yeah? Cause it looks to me like you’re gonna work yourself to death.”

 

“Then I wish you would just leave me to it instead of nagging me!”

 

The tension in the room went from subtle to substantial. The subsequent silence was nearly deafening to Mycroft, his posture rigid as he readied himself for the anticipated outburst of indignant fury. He heard Greg inhale and exhale a measured, drawn-out breath.

 

“Look at me, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft frowned, holding out for a stubborn moment before turning his head. His resolve cracked somewhat as he took in the distress in Greg’s eyes.

 

“Do you know how long it took me to wake you up after I found you? Seven minutes. I timed it. And even after you were awake, you didn’t seem to recognize me. I couldn’t get you up, couldn’t get you to tell me what had happened.” Greg winced, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought you’d had a stroke or a heart attack.”

 

Guilt washed over Mycroft for the first time, making him feel numb. “I don’t remember that.”

 

Greg laughed dully. “I guess not. You did eventually get a bit better. At least enough to chew me out on the ambulance ride over here.” He covered Mycroft’s hand with his own, shaking his head. “I was terrified, Myc. I just wanted you to be okay.”

 

All of Mycroft’s irritation had drained away, leaving him with an unpleasant sensation in his gut. He hesitated, and then turned his palm up so he could lace his and Greg’s fingers together. “Forgive me. I didn’t know it had been that severe.”

 

Something in Greg’s expression eased up a little. “I meant to tell you a bit less dramatically, but I mucked that up pretty good, didn’t I?” He lifted their linked hands and kissed Mycroft’s knuckles. “I’m not trying to interfere with your work or make you change. Lord knows I overwork myself plenty too. But maybe don’t shoulder everything on your own? Tell me before it gets to this point. I know I can’t be involved much, but I’ll try to make things a little easier on you. Just…please don’t make me go through that again.”

 

Mycroft had no words at first, his shame sharp like bile in his throat. He reached over and raised Greg’s chin, brushing their lips together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I will try to be better.”

 

Greg smiled, the anxiety leaving his features as he cupped Mycroft’s cheek. “I know you will. You’re brilliant like that.” Then, he leaned in for a kiss of his own. And although they spoke no words, it felt like an accord to Mycroft. One that he would endeavor to hold to for many years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda like this Mycroft feels a bit closer to Sherlock in some ways, but it's still very much Mycroft in the end. Number 21!


	22. The Size Of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothes make the man.

“How are you faring, Gregory?”

 

“Uh, good, I think?”

 

“Would you like me to come in and assist you?”

 

“Nah, I can manage. Not sure I need all these extra bits though.”

 

“It will be useful to see how they look together. The watch chain and pocket square can be optional additions if you prefer. And you won’t need cufflinks if the shirt cuff already has buttons, though I find they add a bit more personality to an ensemble.”

 

“I guess that makes sense.”

 

“Mr. Holmes? I have a few shirt samples for you.”

 

“Thank you, Davis. Yes, these will work nicely. If you wouldn’t mind bringing us some light pink and gray options as well? Also, I’d like to see a selection of watches.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Holmes.”      

 

“Seriously? How many shirts do I need, Myc?”

 

“I’d say there are at least four different colour combinations that would work well with your suit's shade of blue. And that’s not to mention the different patterns we could try. Of course, the right tie can also shift the overall appearance.”

 

“Well, I suppose it’s nice to have options. Alright, coming out! What do you think?”

 

“…….”

 

“I’m hoping that means you like?”

 

“The term `like` is wholly inadequate. You look exquisite, Gregory.”

 

“Yeah? You don’t think it’s a bit much for me?”

 

“God, no. I knew an Italian cut would flatter you, but this… You’re going to turn the heads of every man and woman in London.”

 

“I think you’re a bit biased.”

 

“And I'm extremely glad to be so.”

 

“Hmm, careful. Keep that up and this suit’ll be ruined before I’ve even owned it.”

 

“Indeed. Much as it pains me, I must bow to your unflagging wisdom. By the way, do you have a preference on cotton types for the shirts?”

 

“Heh, I really have no idea. What do you usually go for?”

 

“I prefer Sea Island myself, though it is somewhat rarer than Egyptian or American Pima. It’s also a touch more expensive.”

 

“Yeah? How much?”

 

“I believe this establishment carries them for around two hundred.”

 

“EACH?!”

 

“To start. And take care not to choke, dear. Your gagging sounds are quite troubling.”

 

“Jesus, how much is all this?! I can barely afford one of their shirts, let alone a whole suit!”

 

“Do not concern yourself. I shall take care of it.”

 

“Wait, Myc, no. I can’t let you do that. This is way too much.”

 

“Not at all. In fact, I consider it a privilege.”

 

“But-“

 

“Gregory, please. These past few months have brought more fulfillment to my life than I ever thought I deserved. For all that you’ve done, for all that you mean to me; this is but a mere pittance compared to that. You say it’s too much, I say it comes nowhere close to expressing the depths of my gratitude to you.”

 

“That’s- I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

 

“It’s not like that. I promise, nothing would make me happier than to do this for you. And I would be honored if you would let me.

 

“…All right. Dangerous how persuasive you are.”

 

“One of my many talents.”

 

“Cheeky. …Thank you, Myc.”

 

“My pleasure. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame Mycroft for for my current love of tailored suits. The man looks way too good in a pinstripe. Number 22!


	23. 'Til Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to this one. Just a small bit of fluff.

Greg awoke feeling much warmer than he had when he’d dozed off. Blinking blearily, he sucked in a small breath as he resurfaced into awareness. The glow from the television screen saturated through the darkness of the room. Greg noticed the volume had been lowered and the channel had been switched from his earlier rugby to the BBC news. There was a sudden snuffling noise as something shifted position next to Greg. He turned, a smile quirking the edges of his mouth at the sight of the prone figure reclining against him.

 

Mycroft’s head had lolled onto Greg’s shoulder, his arms hanging lax at his sides. He breathed through his nose in little not-quite snores. His hair was ruffled out of its normally meticulous form, somehow softening his features. Chuckling, Greg reached over to smooth it back into place. He’d meant to wait up for Mycroft after getting home from the Yard, but two press conferences and scads of paperwork had left Greg dragging on his feet. He’d probably passed out before his game had even gotten to the kick-off. Judging from dark circles under Mycroft’s eyes, his day had been equally draining.

 

“Hey, Myc?”

 

Mycroft’s brow furrowed as his unconscious mind stubbornly rebelled at being woken.

 

“C’mon Myc. We should go to bed.”

 

Mycroft sighed, his eyes fluttering open for a moment before falling shut again. “This’s fine,” he slurred, his voice low and scratchy.

 

“Nope, no good.” Greg got to his feet, hauling a sluggish Mycroft up with him. “No sleeping on the couch. Bedtime.”

 

Mycroft vocalized an inarticulate grumble of acquiescence as he was steered towards the stairs. He swayed a little on his feet, but he made his way to their room without too much issue. Greg lightly pushed him in the direction of the en suite and then set to stripping off his work clothes down to his briefs.

 

After the few minutes needed to perform his nightly routine, Mycroft trudged out of the bathroom and plopped clumsily on the bed. Greg passed him a pair of sleepwear bottoms before heading into the bathroom himself.

 

Greg didn’t expend too much energy in washing his teeth and face. He clicked off the light and padded back into the bedroom. To Greg’s amusement, even in a half-asleep state Mycroft had instinctively folded and hung up his own clothes. Now he lay curled up on the mattress, shirtless with the pajama pants riding low on his stomach.

 

Greg shut off the rest of the lights and climbed onto the bed. Slipping his arms around Mycroft, Greg leaned in and ghosted a kiss onto his lips. There was a moment of surprise as Mycroft intensified the matter despite his exhaustion. He hummed in the back of his throat, dreamily rolling his hips against Greg’s.

 

“I appreciate the sentiment, Myc,” Greg whispered, quivering when Mycroft gave a particularly effective thrust. He stilled Mycroft’s movements before pulling him against his chest. “But I think we’re both a bit too knackered to make a go of it tonight.”

 

Mycroft mumbled an unhappy moan even as he was already drifting off again. Greg smiled as Mycroft’s breathing slowed. He pressed another kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth and allowed his body to settle. As he faded away from consciousness, he murmured once more as his eyes slid closed.

 

“Goodnight, Myc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short, sorry about that. Story just felt like being uncomplicated. Number 23!


	24. Mutual Agreement: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft decides to be a bit direct with Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started this out much different than it ended up going, and it turned into another little multi parter.

“Excuse me?!”

 

Mycroft calmly pulled a handkerchief out of his inner pocket and passed it to Greg Lestrade, who was coughing after swallowing his whiskey wrong. He supposed he should be thankful that Greg had only choked on his drink as opposed to spewing it across the floor in shock. Whiskey fumes were quite tedious to remove from a carpet.

 

“You’re surprised.”

 

Greg clumsily wiped at his mouth, looking gobsmacked. “Of course I’m bloody surprised!” he sputtered. He had to pause and mentally regroup. “You fancy me?”

 

Mycroft gave a wry smile. “It extends a bit farther than mere fancy, Detective Inspector.”

 

“Since when?!”

 

“I’ve always found you intriguing, but I believe I became infatuated sometime after the incident in Dartmoor. It was rather close to the time that you began to show interest in me as well.”

 

Greg froze, going slightly pale. “What?”

 

Mycroft had to step forward and take charge of Greg’s glass, as it was close to slipping out of his hand. “It’s all right, Lestrade,” he said, setting the tumbler down on his desk. “I’ve known for some time.”

 

“But- That’s- How?”

 

Mycroft lifted an eyebrow, and comprehension dawned on Greg’s face a second later. “Right,” he muttered sheepishly, “stupid question.”

 

“You weren’t blatant about it, if that’s what you’re worried about. It actually took me a good while before I was fully convinced of your attraction towards me.”

 

“Yeah?” Greg said, not seeming terribly reassured. “Why’s that?”

 

Mycroft mulled over things for a moment. Perhaps it was a bit self-centered of him, but he found Greg’s flustered reaction rather flattering. Though he did feel somewhat guilty for causing Greg discomfort. So, after a quick internal decision, he met Greg’s eyes again. “Because I could not be objective when it came to you,” he said, allowing a portion of his emotional wall to drop. “I thought I was only seeing what I wished to see, not what was actually there.”

 

Both men fell silent, looking at one another. Greg couldn’t quite seem to shake his uncertainty. “Can I ask why? I mean, why me?”

 

Chuckling, Mycroft propped himself against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “Where do I begin? Your integrity? Your unflagging dedication to a job that so desperately needs good men like you? And there’s your vastly underestimated intelligence.”

 

Greg was a bit taken aback by Mycroft’s words. “Can’t say I’ve been described like that before,” he said, glancing at the ground.

 

“Pity. Then, of course,” Mycroft continued nonchalantly, “there’s your obvious physical advantages.”

 

Greg’s eyes locked onto Mycroft. “My what now?”

 

Mycroft smiled, not ashamed to admit that he was now enjoying this a bit more than he should. “I find you extremely attractive, Lestrade. Even before I was privileged to know you personally, you were never hard to look at.”

 

An actual blush flared up on Greg’s face, bless the man, and Mycroft mentally filed it away as something he’d like to cause more often. Then Greg challenged expectations once more as he straightened up and took a purposeful step in Mycroft’s direction.

 

“Neither are you.”

 

It felt like a charge went through the room’s atmosphere. Mycroft pushed himself upright, his gaze sharpening. He advanced, fluid steps until he was just barely intruding into Greg’s personal space. “Are you free this evening?” he asked, his tone proper but the look in his eyes anything but.

 

Greg inhaled an unsteady breath. “Yeah. I’ll be done by eight.”

 

“Perfect. I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up.” Mycroft moved up a few centimeters more, the hint of his hips pressing against Greg’s. His hand skimmed along Greg’s waist as he leaned in close. “I look forward to continuing our discussion in private, Lestrade,” he whispered against Greg’s ear. “I’m sure it will be quite illuminating for us both.”

 

The tiny shudder that went through Greg was very pleasing. “Sounds good,” he said. He pulled back, and Mycroft deliberately let his fingers trail down Greg’s flank as the space opened up between them.

 

“Then I shall see you later. Until then, Lestrade.”

 

Greg looked at Mycroft intently for a few seconds before nodding. He turned and headed out the door without another word. Mycroft watched him leave, a tremor traveling up his spine. Unfortunately, he was going to be highly distracted for the next few hours. But that merely gave him more time to savor the anticipation of what was to come. And he had such plans for his evening with Greg.

 

Yes, it would be illuminating, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a high chance of going into the M-Rated territory tomorrow. Depending how I swing it. Number 24!


	25. Mutual Agreement: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg arrives at Mycroft's for their... talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly edging more and more into that M-Rating territory.

Mycroft’s phone buzzed just as he’d finished changing. He’d left on his dress shirt on, but had removed his tie and opened up his collar. He’d also switched into a pair of cream coloured trousers that were a bit more casual than his suit pants. Rolling up his other shirtsleeve to match its partner, he picked up his mobile and tapped the speaker button.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’ve just dropped off Mr. Lestrade at the front door.”

 

“Right on time. He’s aware of the security code, correct?

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good. Thank you, Martin. You may leave for the evening.”

 

“Yes, sir. Good night.”

 

Mycroft rang off, a pleasant eagerness simmering low in his stomach. He gave himself one last check in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. He was oddly aware of his own form, of the way his muscles flexed and pulled under his skin, how loose his limbs felt. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he strode out of his dressing room and headed for the main foyer.

 

This flat was much smaller than the one he considered home and only had one floor. He tended to stay here when his workload was particularly demanding, as it was closer to his offices and made his commute easier on him. It was also not too far from NSY as well, making it an ideal location for his meeting- no, that wasn’t quite right. Date? He couldn’t really call this a proper date, could he? Rendezvous? Yes, that was acceptable- rendezvous with Greg.

 

Mycroft found Greg hovering by the door in the entrance hall as though unsure of venturing any farther. The DI’s head turned towards the approaching footsteps, his eyes widening slightly when he saw Mycroft.

 

“Good to see you, Lestrade. I trust the rest of your day was producti-!”

 

Greg had closed the distance between them before Mycroft got through his greeting. Grabbing the front of his shirt, Greg yanked him forward into a fervent kiss. Mycroft’s words cut off into unintelligible garble that shifted quickly into a soft moan. He curled his hands around Greg’s lower back and surged forward a step, pulling him tighter against his body. Greg broke off with a gasp, his pupils beginning to dominate his irises.

 

“So impatient,” Mycroft teased, flicking his tongue along the top of Greg’s upper lip.

 

Greg was still a bit breathless as he stared at Mycroft. “Sorry. I just- Christ, I haven’t been able to focus on anything all day. And then you come out looking like _that_.” He shook his head, his gaze roaming up and down Mycroft’s body. “The suits are great, but so is this.”

 

“Your approval is flattering. But remember, we do have all night,” Mycroft said, his tone darkening as he curved his hand around the back of Greg’s neck. “I for one should like to take my time and savor each moment with you.”

 

A deep shudder vibrated out from Greg’s core, slightly muted as it rippled through Mycroft as well. “What’d you have in mind?”

 

Chuckling, Mycroft used a finger to lift Greg’s chin up. “Well, to start with…” he said, tilting his head as he fit their mouths together. This kiss was slower, but also deep and thorough. They spent a few minutes leisurely mapping out each other’s lips, teeth, and tongues.

 

“It was hard to wait, wasn’t it?” Mycroft murmured as they stopped for air. He turned his attention to Greg’s bare neck, sucking little marks along the skin. “I can tell that you gave yourself a bit of personal relief before you got here.”

 

Greg flushed in embarrassment. He started to respond but was cut off as an especially firm pull from Mycroft’s mouth caused his voice to catch in his throat.

 

“Not to worry. I wasn’t able to hold out either. The thought of doing this, of the things I want to do with you; I was so tightly wound that I came in less than a minute.”

 

“Oh God,” Greg said, a groan mingling with the words. “I wish I could have seen that.”

 

“You will.” Mycroft gave Greg one last hard kiss before pulling back, the heat in his blood rising. He took Greg’s hand and began to tug him along as he walked toward the side hallway.

 

“Bedroom. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another part, don't worry. This story arose because I wanted to try writing an extremely confident version of Mycroft, which I don't believe I've really tried yet. And he's definitely fun this way. Number 25!


	26. Mutual Agreement: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progressing forward...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one refuses to be rushed, but maybe that's a good thing.

Getting to Mycroft’s bedroom was taking longer than it should have, but it was hardly Mycroft’s fault when Greg kept interrupting their progress. They’d already stopped twice for lightning rounds of snogging, and now Greg had pressed Mycroft up against the wall, his hands snaking back to dig into the flesh of his arse.

 

“We’re not going to make it to the bed if you keep distracting me,” Mycroft said, jerking slightly when Greg nipped at the underside of his chin.

 

Greg’s answering laugh rumbled in his throat. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 

Mycroft didn’t exactly disagree, but he happened to have other ideas for how he wanted this night to proceed. He slid his hand up through Greg's silver hair and established a firm grip before tugging backwards. Greg gasped and went still, surprise mingling with the hunger in his eyes.

 

“Behave yourself. I’ve not waited this long for you to have things end so crudely.” With his other hand, he ghosted his fingers along Greg’s exposed throat, gratified to catch traces of an elevated pulse. “There’ll be other chances for that.”

 

Greg exhaled a puff of air, a cheeky grin forming. “Bossy.”

 

“You don’t seem to have an issue with it.”

 

“Not at all.”

 

Mycroft smiled as he released Greg. Then he gently pushed him away and straightened up. “Come along, then,” he said, walking the remaining distance to his bedroom and opening the door.

 

Entering first, Mycroft reached out and flipped up one of the switches on the wall. The lights embedded in the ceiling flared to life, casting a subdued illumination across the darkness. Mycroft considered his bedroom to be a kind of refuge from the world, and as such he preferred it to be more livable than the rest of his flat. The walls were painted an eggshell shade while the wood floor was a tan brown. His bed rested upon a large burgundy rug, and the same colour was used to accent other parts of the room as well. There was a spacious en suite located to the right, with Mycroft’s walk-in closet further in.

 

“Huh.”

 

Mycroft glanced at Greg inquisitively as he entered. Noticing his puzzlement, Greg said, “Just expected something flashier.”

 

“Ah.” Mycroft shrugged offhandedly as he closed the door. “Most forms of extravagance are so overly complicated. I prefer certain aspects of my life to be a bit more straightforward.”

 

“Think most people would still consider your version of straightforward pretty extravagant,” Greg said playfully, moving up from behind and sliding his arms around Mycroft’s waist.

 

Mycroft chuckled, letting his head drop back against Greg’s shoulder. The frantic passion from before had settled into a steady smolder. He could feel the anticipation tingling in his blood, coiling up his spine and through his limbs. He turned around in the embrace and pressed his face into Greg’s neck. “How long has it been for you?” he whispered, the scent reminiscent of a foggy London morning to him.

 

“Seven months since me and the ex split. You?”

 

“About a year, I believe.”

 

“Really?” Greg asked, pulling back and looking at Mycroft in disbelief.

 

Mycroft nodded. “It didn’t seem worth the trouble. My schedule makes romantic entanglements rather ill-advised, and for the purposes of sexual gratification, I manage just fine on my own.” He steered them backwards while he spoke. Greg stumbled as he bumped into the edge of the bed, landing awkwardly on the mattress. Fitting himself into the space between Greg’s legs, Mycroft let his hands rest on Greg’s shoulders. “Of course, you changed my opinion on that matter.”

 

Greg stared up at him, his Adam’s apple dipping once as he swallowed. “Look, you should know, I haven’t been with a bloke since before I was married. And I haven’t bottomed in even longer. So I might be a bit-”

 

“I wouldn’t worry. I doubt the general mechanics have really changed.” In an easy motion, Mycroft budged Greg further up the bed so he could climb onto his lap. “And much as I look forward to taking you in the future, for tonight, I wish to have you inside me.”

 

Greg’s pupils flared almost to the edge of his irises. He pulled Mycroft in against his chest and took his mouth in a searing kiss. Mycroft tightened his thighs around Greg, a soft growl rising his throat.

 

“Fucking hell,” Greg breathed against Mycroft’s lips. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God, I'm not trying to be a tease about holding off on the naughty bits here (HAHA, sorta kinda pun!). It's how the story is deciding to flow, plus working in my writing with my daily schedule. Apologies if I'm driving people bonkers here. We should finally be getting down to the nitty-gritty come tomorrow. XD Number 26!


	27. Mutual Agreement: Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing in...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how close I am to crossing to explicit line, but I don't think I quite hit it yet. The finish up tomorrow could change that depending on things.
> 
> Edit: Went back and tweaked a few lines.

They were a bit uncoordinated in getting their clothes off, a clumsy floundering as both tried to strip each other and themselves at the same time. Greg was finally down to his undershirt, boxers, and one sock. After Mycroft got an arm caught in his sleeve, he batted Greg’s hands away and finished wrestling the shirt over his head.

 

He tossed it over the side of the bed, shivering slightly against the cool air. Through several years of resolute self-discipline with his personal fitness, he had reached a point where he was relatively satisfied with his appearance despite Sherlock’s little jabs at his weight. Of course, there were times when he would have preferred to be more svelte, less freckled, and not so pale. But he knew from personal experience that what one found appealing ultimately varied from person to person.

 

And if the look on Greg’s face was any indication, he found a half-clothed Mycroft very, very appealing. The solid line of his erection was now prominent under the fabric of his underwear, and a sympathetic pulse ran through Mycroft’s cock at the sight. He arched his back as Greg traced fingers along the expanse of his bare chest, tingles trailing just behind the touch. Greg’s thumb gently kneaded into his right nipple, and Mycroft couldn’t hold down his groan.

 

“God, I need to see the rest of you,” Greg whispered, sounding like his composure was nearing the end of its tether.

 

Mycroft huffed out a small breath, lifting his eyebrow in a wry expression. “I don’t suppose you’d give me the same courtesy as well?” He went to work at undoing his trousers while Greg made a mad scramble to remove the rest of his clothes. Wriggling out of his pants relieved a good portion of the pressure between his legs, but he knew that wouldn’t last at the rate they were going. Mycroft was about to pull down his briefs when a hand closed around his wrist. He looked up and inhaled sharply through his nose.

 

 _Oh God_ …

 

Mycroft had often utilized his considerable brainpower in visualizing what Greg would look like nude, both out of curiosity and as mental fuel for several intense wank sessions. Finally being confronted with the reality of Greg naked before him illustrated just how ineffectual his own imagination really was. He took in the light path of chest hair traveling down past Greg's belly button, the subtle curve of his shaft, the play of the muscles in his thighs. And yet it was the details he’d neglected to picture that were truly devastating. It was in Greg’s willing vulnerability in being exposed to Mycroft, the way his tongue darted out to moisten his upper lip, and how dark and fathomless his eyes had become.

 

Greg hooked a finger over the waistband of Mycroft’s underwear. The implication was clear even before he voiced it. “Let me.”

 

A surge of heat pooled in Mycroft’s groin. He had no doubt that if he hadn’t been fully hard before, he was now. It was going to take time to regain his capacity for speech, so he simply nodded instead.

 

With a knowing smile, Greg leaned forward to initiate a heady kiss, flicking and curling his tongue inside of Mycroft’s mouth. It was imprecise, messy, and utterly glorious. Mycroft quivered as Greg drew the briefs down, the material sliding against his erection. He had to do a little shuffle from one knee to the other until the garment was at his ankles and could be kicked away.

 

“We need condoms?” Greg asked breathlessly between kisses.

 

Mycroft really didn’t want to expend the energy to talk, but with some effort he managed, “Don’t have to. Workup every three months. Clean.”

 

“Yeah, same. Mine was last month.”

 

“I know.”

 

Greg chuckled against Mycroft’s lips. “Figures.”

 

Those final mental and physical barriers gone, Greg tugged their bodies together. Mycroft’s brain flooded with static in response to that long awaited skin on skin contact.

 

It wasn’t perfect. There was no way it would be the first time. But it was Greg, and it was still so good. Even with the awkward physical stumbles, peppered with “Shit, sorry”, and “Is this alright?”, Mycroft lost himself in how much he wanted, in how immersed he was in Greg.

 

They ended up on their sides lying face to face. Greg had situated his hand between them, his fingers a tight ring around their lengths as they blindly thrust against each other. The friction was just on the edge of too much, but Mycroft loved every drag of Greg’s hand on his cock. He was tempted, sorely tempted to let Greg finish them both here. It was only the promise of a completion even more earth shattering that wrested his self-control back from his libido.

 

“Wait, stop,” he gasped as a swipe from Greg’s thumb brought him dangerously close to his limit, “Not like this.”

 

Greg’s movements abruptly stilled, the haze clearing from his eyes. “What? You okay?”

 

Mycroft breathed out a laugh, once again impressed by Greg’s restraint. “Yes. My apologies. Give me a moment.” Gingerly sitting up, he guided Greg onto his back before resettling on top of his thighs. Then, he leaned back slightly in his perch and smiled. “Let’s not forget our original plan,” he said, giving a slow roll of his hips.

 

It only took a few seconds before Greg’s concern morphed into understanding.

 

“Oh God. Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't expect this to go so long, though that might be because these chapters have been a bit shorter than some of the others. But I like how well this one it working out. Number 27!


	28. Mutual Agreement: Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoking the flames...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, point of no return. Pretty much earned the E-Rating now. And it's still not quite finished.

Mycroft had to abandon his position atop Greg to fish through his nightstand. He cursed impatiently before locating the lube he’d had the foresight to store in the top drawer. Greg started to sit up, but Mycroft quickly straddled his lap again.

 

No,” Mycroft said, leaning forward and resting his palms on Greg’s chest. He pressed his pelvis down, gratified as Greg bucked up against him. “Like this. I want to feel you pounding up into me.”

 

Greg gave a stifled groan. “Yeah. God, that’s fucking brilliant.”

 

Mycroft chuckled as he popped open the lube’s cap and drizzled an ample portion onto his hand. “I was hoping you’d think so.” Raising himself up on his knees, Mycroft reached between his legs and touched a finger to his entrance. He allowed a moment to savor the little thread of bliss that arced through his midsection. Then he locked eyes with Greg, the energy in the air between them almost tangible to him.

 

“Watch me.”

 

Greg gasped in empathetic unison with Mycroft as he pushed his finger past the ring of flesh. Mycroft grunted, lack of practice for a year making him involuntarily constrict around the intrusion. Releasing an unsteady breath, he worked in bit by bit, willing himself to relax. His muscle memory gradually kicked back in, and it wasn’t long before he was able to slip in a second finger. He let his eyes drift shut, still able to feel Greg’s gaze burning into his skin. He hummed in appreciation as his hips rolled to meet the back and forth motion.

 

Adding the third finger drove a low whine from his throat. A hand cupped against his cheek as though trying to soothe him. “You alright?”

 

“Yes. Extremely,” Mycroft breathed, finding the concern alternately unnecessary and touching at the same time. He was encountering little resistance now, warmth centering in his groin and spreading further still throughout his body. He’d avoided it up until this point, but his fingers were long enough that if he just crooked them towards that one spot-

 

Mycroft’s back jerked into a bow shape, the resulting jolt of pleasure stunning him into silence. Another prod from his index finger forced his voice out again in a staggered cry. He panted as he pulled his fingers out, using his free hand to gesture at the bottle of lube on the mattress.

 

“Ready.”

 

Greg all but lunged for the container, using more than he probably needed to slick his cock from root to tip. Their combined breathing seemed thunderous in Mycroft’s ears as he carefully situated himself over Greg. They shared one more look, Greg’s hands moving to Mycroft’s waist. The action struck Mycroft as being oddly protective, and it stirred something nestled in his chest. With a nod and a deep inhale, he lined up and lowered himself down.

 

Mycroft reminded himself to keep breathing as he was breached. He’d been thorough enough in his preparations that while the pressure was tremendous, it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. It was just that feeling of being so full, his body still trying to adjust to the strangeness of it.

 

Fortunately, Greg proved to be a splendid distraction. Mycroft stared in fascination, absorbing every little twitch of his limbs, the cords of muscles standing out in his neck and shoulders as he struggled to remain still. His eyes were wide as he watched himself slowly disappear into Mycroft, his breathing coming out as soft vocalizations.

 

Mycroft made slight “mphf” noise as he bottomed out all the way. He tried a small rotation of his hips, waking up more of the nerve endings deep inside him.

 

“F-fuck,” Greg whimpered, his head falling back on the bed. “Mycroft, please…”

 

Mycroft shuddered, the heat under his skin slowly rising in intensity. He lifted himself up enough to bend over Greg and claim his mouth in a possessive kiss. “Not to worry,” he said. He rocked back and forth once to enjoy the brush of Greg’s gasp against his lips. “I’ll give us both what we want.”

 

Then he pulled back, and with a slight adjustment of his angle, smoothly sank back down onto Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my own fault for writing these chapters so short that the story's going as long as it has. Work keeps getting in my way, and I want to break them up so I don't miss a day, especially when I'm so close to finishing my challenge. Number 28!


	29. Mutual Agreement: Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion...

Mycroft set a teasing, tortuously slow rhythm. He didn’t hold to any one pattern of movement for too long, deliberately alternating between swaying to and fro in different directions, rolling his hips in little circles, or gently raising and lowering himself. This position had always been one of Mycroft’s favorites. He loved the subtle contradiction of being taken while also having the majority of control over the angle, depth, and speed.

 

Greg’s breathing became interspersed with an increasing number of moans and strangled cries. There were a few instances where he strove to drive himself deeper into Mycroft, and each time Mycroft would stop moving until Greg slumped back against the bed.

 

“Not yet,” Mycroft said, pushing his weight down onto Greg.

 

A desperate noise broke from Greg’s throat, his eyes screwed shut as he writhed under Mycroft. “Please, Mycroft, I can’t, I need to-“

 

“You can hold out. I know you can.” He illustrated the point by gently squeezing around Greg. Fingers flew to Mycroft’s arms and dug in, but Greg held himself steady despite the tiny jerks from his hips. Mycroft shuddered, something primal merging with his lust.

 

“Remarkable.” He leaned down and kissed Greg roughly. “You’ve been extraordinary. Just a little longer.”

 

Greg nodded as he hazily swirled his tongue against Mycroft’s, his mind too far gone to extend his focus towards anything but remaining motionless. He moaned in a confused mix of relief and desperation as the pace finally picked up again. Mycroft was fast approaching the point when his body was going to take over for his brain. But he hadn’t quite hit upon that one angle that he badly wanted. Finishing like this would not be disappointing in the slightest, but he knew if he could arrange himself just right-

 

It was when Mycroft sat back on his heels to give his knees a rest that Greg’s cock glided against his inner walls just so and colours flared in the edges of his vision.

 

“Oh God.” Mycroft choked on his own voice, his thighs shaking as pleasure vibrated through him. His hands latched onto Greg’s waist. “Now. NOW.”

 

Greg’s hips lurched up and established an immediate sharp tempo. Mycroft welcomed the obliteration of his self-control as reality shattered, each thrust sending shocks through his system. One particularly hard plunge tore a shout from his lungs, a stream of words tumbling out in its wake.

 

“There, there, bloody hell, fuck, please-!”

 

Mycroft felt the telltale tightening in his bollocks and instinctively seized his cock at the same time Greg grabbed hold. He frantically pushed into their shared grip.

 

“Oh God, GREG-!”

 

All the tension winding through Mycroft drew up tight and snapped. His senses collided, sight and sound distorting together into beautiful white noise. The next moment there was a pulsing deep within him, and he distantly heard Greg cry out his name. Sensation seemed to endlessly swirl throughout his body until finally draining away, leaving him shivering and boneless. He somehow managed to stay upright even as gravity threatened his weakened balance.

 

Slowly, the circuits in his brain began reconnecting, his cognitive abilities rebooting bit by bit. He cringed at the rapidly cooling mess striped across his stomach and chest. Greg’s twitches drew his attention, and Mycroft glanced down to check how he was. Greg lay limp beneath him with his eyes shut, looking wonderfully wrecked. His brow furrowed in discomfort as Mycroft pulled off his lap and his softened member fell free. Crawling up beside him, Mycroft touched a hand his cheek.

 

“Greg?”

 

Greg stirred, blinking blearily. “Mmph.”

 

“All right?”

 

“Mmm… yeah.” Greg’s eyelids sank down again as he nuzzled against Mycroft’s palm. “God, that was-“

 

“I know.” Leaning over, Mycroft gave him a brief kiss, adoring the little sigh Greg let out. He trusted his legs enough by now to climb off the bed and head into the en suite. He took a few minutes to clean himself up with a warm, wet towel. Then he returned to Greg with another towel, smiling at Greg’s quiet moan as he was wiped down.

 

Tossing the cloth at a corner, Mycroft crawled back onto the bed and pulled the sheets over both of them. Greg turned to face him and curled up against his chest.

 

“Sorry. Tired…”

 

“Shhhh. It’s fine. Just go to sleep.” Mycroft curled an arm around Greg, letting the warmth seep into his skin. No concerns, no thoughts beyond that moment. Just a bone-deep satisfaction and utter contentment. He hadn’t known what to allow himself to hope for in this venture with Greg, but this was already more than his fondest wishes. And for him, crossing this threshold was only the beginning.

 

With a final pleased huff, he rested his chin on Greg’s hair and waited, breathing evenly until exhaustion pulled his eyes closed and he too drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing explicit, and I feel alright about it! And Mycroft came out about how I wanted him to. Number 29!


	30. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wind down of a journey, and the start of a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much longer than I thought it would be, but for my final chapter, I just had to do it.

“Here ya are, Sunshine,” Greg said cheerfully as he strode back into his office. He tossed a small tube at Sherlock, who promptly snatched it out of the air with a scowl. “Found some antiseptic for you. And also…” he added as he held up the box of sticking plasters he’d brought along.

 

Sherlock’s irritation visibly increased. “Those have flowers on them.”

 

“Sorry about that, we’re a bit low on the normal ones.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

Greg grinned. “Okay, that’s true. Just thought these would cheer you up.”

 

A snort of laughter followed Greg’s acknowledgment, and Sherlock sniped a glare at its source. John sat in front of Greg’s desk with a hand clamped over his mouth in an effort to hide his amusement.

 

“You both think this is funny.”

 

“Brilliant, you are.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a show of strained tolerance. “I mourn the future of London’s police force if it employs such juvenile personnel.” He glanced at Greg, who smiled and gave the offered box a jiggle. Then he growled under his breath as he plucked the item from Greg’s hand and pocketed it with the anti-bacterial cream. “I probably have an infection of some kind now,” he grumbled.

 

“This coming from a man who grows mold cultures next to our eggs,” John said, his tone wry.

 

“They’re in secure containers!”

 

“Tupperware is not secure! Look, the bite didn’t break the skin, so you’ll probably be fine.”

 

“Let’s see how you feel after I come down with some deadly strain of Typhoid fever.”

 

“That’s not how you get Typhoid fever, Sherlock…”

 

“Children, please,” Greg said, taking a seat behind his desk. “I’m sure he knows that, John. He’s just being a prat.”

 

Sherlock hmphed in a melodramatic fashion. “I get bitten and somehow it’s my fault.”

 

“Maybe next time you’ll think better of breaking into people’s rooms and prodding at them for no good reason. Apparently that patient doesn’t even have a history of violent tendencies, so you must have really upset him.”

 

“I did nothing wrong! I was merely trying to gather evidence to solve _your_ case.”

 

“That was a witness, Sherlock, not a piece a evidence!”

 

“A ‘witness’ in their mid eighties suffering from advanced stages of dementia. What useful information do you expect to gain by trying to talk with him?”

 

“Well,” Greg said, throwing up his hands, “at the moment, he’s all we’ve got to work with.”

 

“I could deduce more from examining his shoes than trying to-“ Sherlock’s words abruptly cut off, his eyes going wide. “Oh.”

 

Greg straightened up in his chair, recognizing a Sherlock revelation when he saw one. “What have you got, Sherlock?”

 

“Patient has no prior history of violence, then suddenly bites someone for no reason.” Sherlock’s phone was out, his thumbs flying across the screen. “Or, maybe he did have a reason.”

 

“Okay. What does that mean?”

 

Sherlock paused, the corners of his mouth quirking up as his eyes flicked back and forth over whatever he was reading. “Interesting. Your witness may have provided us with a lead after all.”

 

“What? What lead?”

 

“Too soon to say,” Sherlock said, readjusting his scarf. “I need more data first. John, come.”

 

Shaking his head, John stood and gave Greg an apologetic gesture. “Sorry. I’ll text you updates.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Greg sighed in resignation. “Keep me posted.”

 

Sherlock was reaching out for the office door when it swung open. His eyes registered surprise before he scoffed in exasperation. “Ugh. Mycroft.”

 

“Oh. Sherlock.” Mycroft’s hand hovered over the doorknob, his free fingers clenching around his umbrella handle. Greg frowned; he sensed hesitancy in Mycroft that was rather unusual for him. Sherlock zeroed in on it too, though he was the only one in the room able to read it. The two brothers stared at each other, a rapid non-verbal exchange occurring with just their eyes.

 

Sherlock suddenly let out an off-put groan. “Oh Lord.”

 

“What is it?” John asked, looking back and forth between Mycroft and Sherlock.

 

“Nothing I wish to be present for.” Scoffing under his breath, he looked over his shoulder at Greg. “Goodbye, Lestrade. I’ll be in touch.” Then he turned and headed out the door. As he did, Greg saw his hand close around Mycroft’s wrist for a brief second. And with a flutter of his Belstaff coat, he was gone, John trailing close behind as he cast back a questioning glance.

 

“Can’t say I get what that was about,” Greg said as Mycroft shut the office door.

 

“Yes, well, Sherlock can be infuriatingly cryptic at times.”

 

“Hm, and I wonder who he got that from?”

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow in a mildly affronted manner, but it faded as Greg came around his desk to stand in front of him. A little grin crossed Greg's face as he wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and drew him in for a quick kiss. “Hey you,” he said, winking.

 

Greg tried to move away when Mycroft tugged him back, the second kiss more insistent and thorough. Greg hummed low in his throat as their tongues skimmed against each other.

 

Pulling off, Mycroft brushed the back of his fingers against Greg’s cheek. “Hello Gregory.”

 

Greg huffed an airy laugh, giving Mycroft a squeeze before releasing him. “So what’s going on? You just in the area?”

 

That odd uncertainty flickered in Mycroft’s expression again. He fidgeted a moment like he needed time to gather his thoughts. “Actually, I have something rather important to discuss with you.”

 

“Yeah?” Concern was beginning to creep in the edges of Greg's mind. “About what?”

 

Mycroft didn’t answer. He reached into his inner coat pocket and fished something out, his jaw tensing. After some internal conflict, he pressed the object into Greg’s hand and stepped back.

 

Greg’s mouth parted slightly as he stared at the black box resting on his palm. He wordlessly removed the lid. Nestled inside the case was a band of blackened cobalt with a single line of embedded silver looping around the middle.

 

“I considered doing this in a more traditional setting. Dinner, wine, and all that. But public proposals always struck me as a bit tasteless. I wanted it to be just between the two of us. And I wanted it to be here, since this is the place where I first met you.”

 

Mycroft swallowed hard, looking painfully aware of his own self-consciousness. “You need not answer right away. I understand this is not an easy decision to come to, so however long you need- Gregory?”

 

“Sorry, sorry.” Greg couldn’t help his grin or the chuckles vibrating in his chest. “It just figures, you know?”

 

At the sight of the puzzlement on Mycroft’s face, Greg went around his desk again and opened one of the lower drawers. “I’d planned to get a box for it, but it’s a bit late for that now, I guess.” He approached Mycroft and showed his palm, a sheepish smile forming. The ring he held was gold with diagonal lines etched into the sides. The single square stone was a deep blue, reminiscent of the storm-tossed sea.

 

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “That’s-“

 

“Yeah. ‘Course you’d beat me to it.” He gently placed the ring in Mycroft’s hand. “Reminds me of your eyes. It was originally my great grandfather’s family ring. When my father got it, he used it to propose to my mother, though she did also get her own proper ring. After she passed, he gave it to me when I was eighteen. I always wanted to use it the same way when I got married. My ex had made it pretty clear that she wasn’t interested in being proposed to with an antique, and I accepted that to make her happy. That never sat right with me, honestly.” Greg glanced down, giving a shrug. “I know it’s not much. But it’s a piece of my family that goes back decades. And the idea of you wearing it just makes sense. But, if you’d rather have something new-“

 

“No.” Greg lifted his head. Mycroft had closed his hand around the ring and pressed it against his chest. The emotions shifting over his face made Greg’s throat tighten. “It’s perfect.”  

 

Relief and delight surged together inside of Greg. He startled Mycroft when he knelt down and then tugged him along.

 

“Gregory, what-”

 

“Get down here, you great berk. Gotta do this right, remember?” Leaning forward slightly, he lifted Mycroft’s right hand up. After a second, comprehension lit in Mycroft’s eyes, quickly softening into something gentler. Mycroft handed him the gold band and Greg pushed it onto his ring finger, gratified to see the fit was about right. Then Greg offered the black ring to back to Mycroft and held out his own hand. The metal was cool against his skin as the ring slid home.

 

“Should probably ask each other properly,” Greg said, not sure if it was possible to feel happier than he did at that moment.

 

Mycroft nodded. He threaded their fingers together, their joined hands resting on their knees. He inhaled a breath, his small smile nearly blinding with the joy that it held.

 

“Marry me,” he whispered.

 

Greg’s own smile mirrored what he saw in Mycroft’s heart, and right then, as they sat there on the floor of his office, Greg felt as though all the twists and turns and false starts of his life had finally, finally led to this.

 

“Marry me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it. Thirty days, a story a day. I can't even believe I pulled it off. And I'm more amazed that I feel like I did some good work too despite the time constraints. I don't know what the policy is, but I'd like to take a few of the chapters and give them their own posting, as I feel some stories came out so well I want them to stand on their own. And I want to revisit the AUs that I presented in this collection as well, most likely as their own little collections of fics in those universe.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who followed me in this challenge and encouraged me to keep going and gave me comments and kudos and everything! I definitely need a little day or so break from writing, as my brain feels like it's beginning to melt. 
> 
> Finally, number 30. Thanks again, guys.


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